


Secrets and Revelations

by Hisstah



Series: Secrets and Revelations [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Anal Sex, BAMF!John, BAMF!Sherlock, Explicit Sexual Content, Knotting, M/M, Omega Verse, Oral Sex, Sentinel/Guide, Sentinel/Guide Bonding, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-28
Updated: 2012-11-09
Packaged: 2017-11-17 05:47:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 83,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/548271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hisstah/pseuds/Hisstah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dr John Watson has some major secrets that he's kept from his flatmate, Alpha Sentinel Sherlock Holmes.  Now the Sentinel Tower is after him. Can John stay out of their hands until he can reveal his secrets to Sherlock?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [Secrets and Revelations (解密)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/685198) by [EEKWGERMANY](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EEKWGERMANY/pseuds/EEKWGERMANY)



> This is a fusion of The Sentinel, combined with Alpha/Omega dynamics loosely based on a Sherlock/John sentinel/guide universe similar to Velvet Mace's AU "Chameleon" and a bunch of Alpha/Omega fan fics. Please don't blame her for this, though. 
> 
> The Alpha/Omega dynamics and some of the Sentinel bonding stuff include some dubious consensual aspects. If this squicks you, please don't read. Look up the Alpha/Omega tags if you don't know what it is. 
> 
> Why I did this, I can't tell you except to say that that I'm a sad, sad perverted individual. I have no one to blame but myself for this. All mistakes are mine. 
> 
> In the words of the immortal Dr. McCoy, "I'm an artist, not a writer, Jim," so please keep in mind I do not usually write stuff. I usually paint stuff. I hope you'll be kind in your no doubt numerous criticisms.
> 
> ____________________________________________________________________________

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Addendum: I wish to thank Velvet Mace for inspiring this. She doesn't know it and please don't blame her for this, but I love her work and I consider the story to be a kind of homage to her. :-)
> 
> For those who aren't familiar with The Sentinel, a sentinel is a person with all five senses enhanced. However, this makes them rather vulnerable if they couldn't control them. A loud noise, strong smell, pain or bright light could cause them to fall into a fugue state called a zone. To prevent this, a guide is required. The guide helps the sentinel's senses stay balanced and acts as a touchstone for reality. In fanon, the guide helps the sentinel calibrate the senses and prevents him or her from falling into a zone. The guide also helps the sentinel use his/her senses more effectively. There is also a sixth sense touched on in the series dealing with the supernatural, spirit animals and the spirit world where the guide and sentinel can receive advice and help from their spirit guides. Hope that helps those who aren't familiar with the Sentinel universe!

 

Thank you to Cleo_Calliope for her lovely cover!! 

Thinking about it later, John Watson really should have expected this. He’d always been so careful in the use of his empathy.  He tried so hard not to bring attention to his rather remarkable abilities, but he’d slipped up in front of the wrong person. Just once, but that’s all it took.  He tried not to blame himself. He’d been so distracted these last few weeks. What with the pending vote on laws intended to roll back empath and omega rights and now especially after what had happened directly before Sherlock left on his research trip. Even so, with his background, John really should have prepared better for this.

The day had started out fairly well.  It was a Friday, his shift at the A&E was nearly done, he had a perfect mug of tea and Sherlock would be home soon.  Anxiety warred with nervousness at the thought of his friend returning from Canada.  Based on what had occurred before he left, Sherlock had finally been forced to confront the situation between them and had agreed to at least talk about it.

They had been dancing around their attraction to each other practically since they’d first met. Sherlock Holmes, the worlds only alpha sentinel consulting detective had been the one to draw the line at friendship at Angelo’s the day they’d met and John had respected that.  However, the tension between the two of them increased as the months went by.  Sherlock was an alpha sentinel and John presented himself as a beta and low level empath.  Liaisons and bondings between such couples were not typical but not unheard of, either.

And unfortunately, Sherlock kept him guessing with numerous mixed messages.  He would be distant and insulting one moment, then praising and protective the next.  There was even that one time where he’d totally confused John, right after they had caught an especially devious murderer.

Fairly early on in their association, Sherlock had had to project his very dominant alpha status to subdue a killer who had literally taken a knife to John’s throat. He would never forget as long as he lived seeing Sherlock the alpha make a beta kneel and submit to him by the use of his dominance and pheromones alone. 

And when they had got home, Sherlock had gone primal. The detective had crowded John against the wall and had buried his face in the doctor’s neck, holding him tight and then stroking him everywhere he could reach to make absolutely sure John wasn’t injured. John had returned the embrace and murmured soothing nonsense until the sentinel had shuddered and finally released him.  The kiss Sherlock had given him on the temple was so tender and faint, he sometimes wondered if he’d imagined it. Whatever had happened, it had not been repeated. Until recently.

He was alternately dreading and looking forward to the outcome of this chat he had insisted on having with his flatmate. So, whatever happened, whatever Sherlock decided, life was going to change drastically for the both of them, especially John.  There was no reason to expect things would go his way and he needed to prepare himself for that eventuality.  The thought of rejection from his best friend and potential bond-mate made his stomach churn, so it was best to think of other things.

Because he was stressed, preoccupied and anxious, John wasn’t paying as much attention to his surroundings as he normally would do.  Therefore, he was rather surprised when he found two strange sentinels waiting in front of the door to his office.

Finding a sentinel, let alone two, in a non-sentinel hospital was unusual.  John belatedly sent out a tendril of empathy to investigate their emotional ambience. What he picked up made him yank it back right and slam down his shields.  There was a predatory feel to both sentinels that alarmed him on all levels. Whatever they were here for, his senses told him they represented some form of danger to him.

One was in the black, vaguely Nazi-esque uniform of a London Tower Protector and the other was dressed in a rather nice, dark blue suit and holding an expensive leather briefcase. They took note of him as John limped toward them, the predatory feeling from the one in the suit growing a bit stronger with proximity. John strengthened his shields and automatically fell into his self-protective role of inoffensive, pudgy, kind and harmless doctor, hiding the other, more deadly, aspects of himself beneath his soft woollen jumper and vague smile.    

Both were unbonded betas and the security man was armed with a taser and tranquiliser dart gun. Thankfully, John sensed the Protector didn’t seem to be expecting any trouble from him. The Suit was holding a photo and, despite his shields, John began to pick up impatience and irritation.  These two were very loud empathically and didn’t care who knew it. _Lovely. Best to avoid them, then_.

Giving them both a bland smile, John nodded and continued to walk past them toward the stairs. The man in the suit looked down at the photo he held and, to John’s annoyance, reached out to grab his arm. John pulled away quickly, nearly spilling his tea and turned to face them. He didn’t want a sentinel touching him, especially an unbonded. It was too risky.

“Just a moment please. You’re Dr John Watson?” When John reluctantly nodded, the man continued. “I have something I need to discuss with you. I was told this was your office?”

“Yes, but I have to get to work.  I don’t have time to meet with anyone right now. Do you wish to make an appointment? “

The Suit flashed a badge of some sort that was from the Tower. John peered at it but it meant nothing to him. He looked back at the man in bewilderment. Before John could say anything further, the man spoke.  “You need to make time now, Dr Watson. May we come in?” The last statement was more an order than a request. John recognised someone who was used to being obeyed unquestioningly.  He also recognised someone who thought this whole situation was below his pay grade and wasn’t happy about it.

John was confused and starting to get concerned. There was only one reason these two would be in his hospital and also have a photo of him. And that reason was not good for John. Something wasn’t right and his empathic senses were backing that up. He began to wonder if this had anything to do with what happened with Sherlock on the bridge three days ago. If so, he was royally screwed and certainly not in a good way.

John sighed gustily, unlocked the door and led them into the small room.  He sat at his desk and waved for the men to be seated in the ugly and uncomfortable plastic chairs.  

He sipped his tea and it went down the wrong way. Suit rolled his eyes but the Protector offered a handkerchief. When the doctor finished coughing and wiping up tea, he gave them a nervous smile that was probably more of a grimace.  “So.  What do I owe the pleasure of this visit from the Tower, gentlemen?”

The Suit eyed him with disapproval and set his briefcase down on his lap. He answered as he snapped it open loudly to pull out some documents.  John jumped a bit at the sound and to his annoyance, spilled more tea.  

“I am London Tower Secretary sentinel Wilson and this is sentinel Protector Captain Deeds. We don’t have a lot of time so I’ll keep this short.”  Wilson cleared his throat and read the prepared document stiffly. “’Pursuant to the Empath Act of 1972, you, John H. Watson, are hereby remanded into the custody of London Sentinel Tower for re-evaluation of your empath status. You have certain rights and can appeal this custody order within 48 hours.  However, a solicitor will not be provided for you but must be obtained by you…’”

It was at this point that John stopped listening. Shock and disbelief made him go hot and then cold as the seriousness of the situation hit him. He had known this might happen at some point. Someone had turned him into the Tower. Had accused him of hiding his true empathic abilities. Possibly someone who had witnessed the events on the bridge three days ago or its aftermath.  Or maybe even someone who simply disliked him. The reason really didn’t matter.

All that truly mattered was that the Tower was going to try to take him. If they succeeded, he would be transported to the Tower where they’d discover that they did indeed have a true guide rather than a low level empath on their hands. Not only a guide, but they’d eventually discover he was an omega guide, one of the rarest of the rare.

Stupid, stupid, stupid. Honestly, he’d thought he’d have more time. He should never have come to London for physio and should never have stayed as long as he had done. Forrester had warned him. But he’d come to love London and the work he did with Sherlock with a passion he’d never experienced before in his short but rather eventful life. Together he and Sherlock made a difference. And he loved Sherlock with an equal passion. 

Sherlock had given him a purpose and direction that he’d lacked since he’d been invalided out of the army. For the first time in his life, John had met someone who had made him decide to change the course of his entire life. Simply put, he wanted to bond with Sherlock in every way possible, as a guide and as an omega. Sherlock made him feel vibrantly alive, untouchable and invulnerable.

Working with Sherlock provided him with plenty of excitement and adventure that he craved. They’d taken down numerous criminals while working together.   Many of the situations he and Sherlock faced had been life-threatening, but that was very familiar to John.

Now he was facing his worst nightmare.  Capture by the Tower, imprisonment and eventual discovery of his deepest and darkest secrets.  And if he let these men take him, he’d never see the detective again.  He had to keep out of the Tower’s hands until Sherlock got home. His life was indeed going to change radically, but it was going to be on _his_ terms and his terms _only_.

“…do you have any questions concerning your rights as they have been read to you?”  John looked up at Wilson and allowed fear and bewilderment to show on his face.  Despite what Sherlock thought, John was actually an excellent actor. 

”I…I don’t understand. There must be some mistake. I’m not a guide; I’m a low level empath.  I have patients, I can’t just leave…,” John protested, using his empathic abilities to project helplessness and fear while simultaneously making sure he seemed totally non-threatening. John began to analyse exit strategies and best angles of attack.

Wilson seemed uncomfortable but it was Deeds who spoke up, responding to John’s projections and trying to be reassuring.  No sentinel liked to see a guide, or even a presumed guide, distressed or hurt. “Come now—there’s no need to be upset. If you are truly just a low level empath, you’ll be home in a few days after a couple of tests.  And if you are a guide, think of it as an opportunity to start a new life! We’re so short of guides, it’s an honour and a privilege to be bonded to a sentinel.” 

John had started to like Sentinel Deeds until he said that last bit. So. There was nothing for it.  John hadn’t expected them to let him go but his empathy had done its work.  They saw him as a harmless and frightened man who would follow them to the Tower without a fight.

John tried once more. “Is this even legal? Can I call my solicitor? I need to let my supervisor know what’s happening.”

“This is all perfectly legal and you’ll have a chance to contact a solicitor once you’re safely behind Tower walls. Every legal courtesy will be given to you before testing is begun. We’ll let your employer know what’s going on. But you must come with us now. You don’t want us to have to use force, now, do you?”  Wilson stood and leaned forward, trying to dominate him.  John cringed away with a fearful expression.

Deeds looked unhappily at Wilson.  “Must you do that? He’s cooperating.” Wilson just frowned at him and Deeds shut up.  Good, thought John. Divide and conquer.

“So what do we do now?” John rubbed his face with shaking hands, to all appearances seeming to give up.  

Deeds looked sympathetic. “Just come along quietly. We have a car waiting outside to take you to the Tower. I’m sorry, but I have to put these on you.”  He held up a pair of handcuffs, though they appeared to be somewhat different from the ones Sherlock kept nicking from Lestrade. Looking closer, he could see they had a bit of padding on the inside to keep the wrists from being damaged. 

The doctor’s hands steadied as adrenaline began to pour into his system.  His head cleared and the glacial calm that was so familiar from his most dangerous covert missions began to settle over him like a soft blanket.  The sentinels no doubt took note of his increased heartbeat but likely attributed it to fear. John stood and limped around the desk, trying to look as small and helpless as possible. “What do you want me to do?” 

“Just cooperate with the handcuffing and we’ll be on our way to the Tower.”   Deeds took John’s wrist and began to apply the cuff.  In a blur of motion, John yanked his hand from Deed’s grasp and pulled the tranquilliser gun from its holster. A sweeping kick knocked the Protector to his knees. A strike to the back of the neck put him face down on the floor.  Wilson gaped at the amazing speed of events and never had a chance to react.  

John shot him with the tranquilliser dart, wishing it were the taser instead, but he could hope he’d have that pleasure some other time.  He turned and shot the stunned Protector next. Both were unconscious in seconds. Pulling the magazine out of the dart gun, John noted that there were four more doses of the drug and snapped it efficiently back into place. It was a very powerful sedative and now John knew what kind of weapons were going to be used against him.

John searched both men, taking keys, extra darts and the taser.  Wilson had no weapons but he had a very nice mobile that John appropriated.  Deeds had a radio that was connected to the London Tower communications. John made a note of the frequencies used, then smashed it.  He also took Deeds’ mobile. 

Judging by the type of tranquilliser used in the darts, John figured he had maybe 30 minutes before they woke up. He rummaged through the drawers of his desk to see if there was anything in there he could use.  He found a baseball cap and a pair of sunglasses that belonged to one of his fellow doctors and took them.

Removing his lab coat, he grabbed his jacket and headed for the door. He had no idea if there were other sentinels outside or how long they would wait before searching for Deeds and Wilson.  It was possible they would be missed by the Tower before then, so he gave himself 15 minutes to get out of the immediate area. Ever the doctor, he made sure both men were in the recovery position before he left his office for the last time. 

Swiftly, with no hint of a limp, he took the stairs down to the basement level. When he’d first joined the staff at the hospital, he’d automatically mapped out various escape plans with multiple exits. Tugging on the baseball cap and slipping on the sunglasses, John headed to the nearest exit, which happened to be the service entrance where carts of dirty linen were waiting to be loaded onto lorries. He stuffed the lab coat he’d carried away into one of the carts. 

John took a few minutes to breathe and gather his thoughts before he headed toward the gate. His goal was to escape and evade the Tower until Sherlock returned.  Until that happened, all he really needed to concentrate on immediately was to stay out of the Tower’s hands.  He dreaded the next few days. They were going to be stressful, to say the least.

The guards didn’t even glance at him as he strolled past. No one would ever guess he was heading toward an uncertain future.

_Three days earlier:_

Sherlock and John stood on the rocky edge of the Thames where the two feet, still in their identical socks and trainers, had washed up. They were a bit more odiferous than John would have expected of something so small and he rubbed at his nose in distaste.  Anderson and Donovan stayed far back but Lestrade stood nearby, watching Sherlock examine the feet.

Sherlock crouched, making sure to keep his coat from touching the ground.  He poked at the sock of the first foot with a stylus and squinted carefully at what was emerging from the stained fabric.  John moved a bit closer and surreptitiously leaned into the sentinel, just in case Sherlock zoned on either the sight or smell of decaying flesh and bone. Sherlock had never zoned in John’s presence in all the time he’d known him but one could never be too careful.  John trusted Lestrade not to speak and Anderson and Donovan were too far away to really see anything.

Anderson called out to them. “The feet are from the same person. They smell the same and the socks and trainers are identical.” 

Sherlock stood and wiped his stylus off with a handkerchief.  He stayed close to John and actually leaned back into him somewhat, to John’s surprise. “As usual, Anderson, you are completely wrong.”

“What do you mean? These feet are from the same body.” Anderson was not a full sentinel. Like many people, he had one enhanced sense and his was smell.  “They smell exactly the same. And how do you explain the exact same type and size of trainers and the same kind of sock?”  His questions had the belligerence of someone who was very sure of himself.

Sherlock sighed and looked at John.  “Please tell him why he’s wrong. My brain hurts just knowing he’s alive.”

John felt slightly put on the spot, but then took a closer look at the feet.  His mind had been distracted by being so close to Sherlock and it took a few seconds but then he understood.  

“Well, these could possibly be from the same person but he would have had to have two left feet.”  Sherlock smiled at him with a look of pride, to John’s great pleasure and then the detective cocked an eyebrow at Anderson, who looked confused and then angry. 

“Thank you, John.  Now, in what cases would two different people possibly smell the same or similar enough to confuse someone of Anderson’s dubious abilities?”

The doctor thought for a moment and then replied, “In the case of an omega/alpha bond, they would smell pretty much identical.  Also, if they were identical twins, they would have a similar scent.”

If anything, Sherlock’s pleased smile got larger and he practically beamed at John.  “Excellent!  That’s exactly correct.” He turned away and began to prod carefully at the other foot.

Lestrade came closer while Sherlock visually examined the second shoe.   
  
“Well, this is rather…unusual.” The DI covered his nose and mouth with a hand, unsuccessfully trying to block out the smell.

 “Actually it is not, Lestrade.”

”Hmm? What do you mean? I’ve never heard of anything like this before.”

”Of course _you_ haven’t, but this appears to resemble a series of disarticulated feet found on the Salish Shore. Fourteen feet since 2007, if I’m not mistaken.”

Sherlock stood up and pulled out his mobile, beginning to text rapidly.

“Where the bloody hell is the Salish Shore?” the DI wondered.  John sympathised with Lestrade’s confusion and looked at Sherlock questioningly.

“British Columbia. I must do research.  Lestrade, I’ll need for you to get permission for John and me to examine those feet and to be allowed to see all the files and documentation associated with the cases.”

”Christ. You’re not asking much, are you?” Lestrade sighed and pulled out his phone.  “And I’m not paying to send you to British Columbia!” he yelled as he began to dial.

Sherlock ignored him and continued to text swiftly. “I’ll get two tickets to Canada. Mycroft won’t notice the bill.”

John sighed. “Sherlock, you know I have two shifts at the A&E this week and we’re dangerously understaffed.  I can’t possibly go with you. And why do you have to go now? Why can’t you wait until after these two feet are autopsied first?”

”You know how backed up things at the morgue are so it’ll be at least a week, possibly longer, before Molly can get to them. Waste of my time. I might as well get the initial research done.”

He continued to type, hit send and then put the phone away. “That’s one ticket to Canada, leaving this afternoon. Problem?”

John let out a frustrated breath. “Okay. Fine. That’s fine, Sherlock. I just… I just had hoped you’d be home this week.” 

Sherlock moved a bit closer and gave him one of his rare, real smiles that always left John a bit breathless.  He knew his expression was ridiculous and worshipful. It always was. 

“It’s just for a few days John. I’ll be back soon. I’ll rely on you as always to keep me updated on events related to the case.” 

“Get a room, Freak.”   
  
John glared at Donovan but Sherlock ignored them both, stepping away and pulling out his phone again.

“John, get photos of the feet.  You’re better with a mobile camera than Anderson with the latest Hasselblad.”    
  
Anderson snarled something John couldn’t hear, but Sherlock, with his superior sentinel hearing, obviously did because he grinned evilly.

Looking down at his mobile and then texting something, Sherlock turned his back on them and started to walk away.

“I’m going up to the road to see what I can find.  It’s unlikely anything was thrown from this bridge, but it’s best to be sure.”  John nodded absently and proceeded to take the requested photos with his mobile.

Anderson and Donovan stalked over as he began.  He didn’t like either one, but he was unfailingly polite to them. No point in making enemies.   

“I know what you’re doing.”   
  
John glanced at her curiously, then went back to taking pictures.   
  
“I’ve seen you with him. You think you’re going to create a superficial bond with him and be a guide to him. Tell me I’m wrong.”

Was he that transparent? Apparently so.  John sighed wearily.  Donovan was closer to the truth than not, but she was still wrong. “What’s your point, Sally?”

“It’s just that he treats you like shite, mate. You’re a good bloke and you could do a lot better.”   
  
That was a bit of a surprise and John was taken aback. 

Before he could reply, his head whipped around toward the bridge. A sense of danger and urgency shot thorough him and his body was in motion without conscious thought. For the life of him, John never remembered leaping like a gazelle up the stairs or dashing across the bridge in between vehicles and spectators.

Amid the squealing tyres and honking horns, the only thing he saw was Sherlock’s tall, dark figure crumpled in the middle of the road with a large SUV practically parked on top of him. Fearing the worst, John tore through the crowd of looky-loos, not even hearing the loud protests as he pushed people aside in his rush to get to his friend.

As he threw himself to his knees beside Sherlock, he realised that the sentinel had zoned. John was shocked.  In all the time he’d known the detective, he’d never zoned once. Sherlock had the most incredible control of any unbonded sentinel John had ever heard of and this was unprecedented.

Sherlock’s pulse was faint and his respiration was practically non-existent.  John had to do something and fast. 

”I didn’t hit him! I swear! He just fell over right in front of me!” The driver of the SUV was standing near the front of his car and his outburst distracted John.  ”We know that, now shut it!” John shouted. Lestrade, Donovan and Anderson appeared, and began to push people away from John, looking at him with concern in their eyes.

”Is he zoned? Can you help him, John? I’ve never seen him zone before, in all the time I’ve known him. This is dangerous, isn’t it?”

Ignoring Lestrade, John turned his attention back to Sherlock.  He really had no idea what he was doing so he decided to go with instinct. Taking a deep breath, John reached out with both his hands and his empathy.  He touched Sherlock’s face with his fingers as his mind reached out for his lost friend. There was a sensation of falling and then all went dark.

Waking in a blue tinged wood was not what he had expected.  The forest was incredibly old, beautiful and straight out of a Tolkien fantasy. Forrester had taken him here once before, so John knew he was now in the spirit world. He’d never really been comfortable with the spiritual aspects of being a guide, but it seemed he was going to have to become more familiar whether he liked it or not.

John felt a sense of urgency that prevented him from exploring as he might have done any other time, however. Turning around he spotted movement in the undergrowth. Uncertain of what to do, he pushed his empathy outward and received a feeling of homecoming and safety.  Walking forward carefully, he was surprised to be greeted by his spirit animal, an Asiatic wolf. Her mouth was open with her tongue hanging out of the side.  To John, it looked as if she was laughing at his startlement and he smiled back.   

_‘Hah, little brother! There you are! Your mate needs you. Come with me now!’_

The sense of urgency returned and she spun around to run further into the forest.  John followed with as much speed as he could muster, pushing through the undergrowth and eventually stumbling upon a narrow path.  Running was much easier and they continued on. Time had no meaning here and John was startled as he abruptly arrived at a circular clearing in the forest. He stopped at the edge of the glade and gaped, arrested by the magnificence of the dark sky above, glittering with billions of stars. 

A sense of impatience and a growl dragged his attention away from the endless depth of the sky and back down to his spirit guide. She took his wrist in her mouth and tugged him forward.  

_‘You have so much to learn, little brother. Pay attention and go to your mate!’_

The doctor looked up see a dark figure huddled in the centre of the clearing.  Standing guard over him was a beautiful raptor, round grey-green eyes wide, feathers black and shiny in the blue light, yellow beak wicked and sharp. Its wings were spread covering the prone figure and the span was huge.  John felt no danger from the fierce animal, only a ferocious protectiveness.  He recognised the lanky form of Sherlock and ran over to kneel down beside him.    Sherlock was lying on his side with his knees drawn up to his chest and his arms wrapped around them. His head was hidden.

The raptor hissed and looked straight into John’s eyes.  _‘You must guide him from this place. This zone is deep and dangerous, based on anger and fear.   It is not safe for him to be here now. When next you come to this place, you will bring him and all will be well.’_

Trusting in John, it folded its wings and backed away as the doctor knelt, reached down to touch Sherlock’s face and raised his head. He needed to get Sherlock to acknowledge him so he could lead him out of the spirit world.

”What are we doing here, John?” Sherlock asked. He seemed terribly shaken.  “What is this place?”

”Don’t you know where you are, Sherlock?” Hadn’t Sherlock attended sentinel school?  Wasn’t it pretty much mandatory for all sentinels but especially alphas? 

John had only been here once before, with Forrester. She had taken on his training during the down time between missions.  The doctor had been safe in her hands at the time, but this was very risky.  If he couldn’t remember exactly what she’d taught him, he could get them both lost and they’d never return.  He was frankly shocked that Sherlock didn’t seem to know where he was.

The man in question looked vaguely around and seemed to come to himself a bit. It was unusual for him to be so uncertain and vulnerable. Usually the only thing that did that was an emotional upheaval of some kind.

But of course, John wouldn’t necessarily know if Sherlock had experienced an emotional upheaval as Sherlock never showed what he was feeling unless it was for a purpose.  If something had happened, John would probably be the last to know. Sherlock hated being exposed or unsure around him. An emotional upset might explain the depth of this zone, however, which was a very bad one.

Sherlock continued. “I’m in the spirit world, I think.  I… I deleted most of what I’d learnt in the Tower, though. I. I don’t know what to do.” He looked in despair at John, whose heart went out to him. He’d not seen Sherlock look so lost and defenceless before.

Without thinking, he said, “I’ll take care of you, Sherlock.  Just trust me and follow.” He took his flatmate’s hand and helped him to stand. “We need to follow our spirit animals. Can you feel them? Their urgency?” Sherlock only shook his head and John frowned. That was strange. No matter. They had to move.

Still holding Sherlock’s hand, John turned to face his wolf. Not that he knew from actual experience, but he’d heard many empaths had wolves as spirit guides and wondered why.  It then had occurred to him that, not only were wolves known for protectiveness and loyalty to their pack mates, but they were superior trackers and hunters. John had every confidence that his spirit animal would lead them out of the forest safely.  But Sherlock still seemed uncertain about what they were doing and hesitated to follow John.

Without thinking of the consequences, John took both of Sherlock’s hands and projected all of his trust and confidence into the detective, without holding anything back. He visualised the tendrils of his empathy wrapping around his friend, enfolding him with all the love and devotion John felt for Sherlock, in the hope it would act almost like a shock blanket, keeping him safe and protected. The comparison to the hideous orange blanket that Sherlock always seemed to end up with at crime scenes made him smile at his flatmate, who looked at him in undisguised wonder.

“How… how can you do this?” Sherlock asked him in astonishment and some fear. John shrugged and pulled at Sherlock’s hands. It was something they could discuss later but they had to leave now. There was a path he’d not seen before and they headed toward it, running fast, hand in hand. He could see his wolf running ahead of them. The foliage blurred around them as they moved and it began to swirl and pulsate. John stumbled and nearly fell, but caught himself with Sherlock’s help and kept running. It became so dark they could no longer see and John felt a sense of disorientation and vertigo. All motion stopped and he opened his eyes with a start. 

They were no longer in the blue forest. It was daylight again and John was still kneeling beside Sherlock with his hands on his friend’s pale face.  Except now Sherlock’s pale grey-green eyes were wide open in shock, staring at him in dismay. 

There was a murmur of voices all around and John sat back, slowly becoming more aware of his environment. Everyone looked at him with varying degrees of surprise or amazement, depending on how much they’d seen happen.  It was clear John wasn’t a guide yet he’d just pulled a sentinel from a deep zone. 

”All right, everyone, go back to your cars. Nothing to see here, now.  Let’s stop holding up the traffic and get back on the road.” Lestrade’s rough voice carried over all the other noises on the bridge as he, Donovan and Anderson shepherded people back to their vehicles. 

Relieved and grateful to Lestrade for the distraction, John moved to help Sherlock up, brushing debris out of his hair and off his face. The sentinel was so shaken he actually accepted John’s aid.  He wobbled a bit as they moved to the end of the bridge. John waved off the help offered by Lestrade as Sherlock allowed himself to be seated in one of the nearby police vehicles.

That was a sign of shock if there ever was one and it worried John more than he liked. He checked Sherlock’s vitals but all seemed fine. “How do you feel? Do you need anything?” he asked quietly, checking the detective’s pupils.  Sherlock yanked his gaze away and shook his head no.

John lowered his voice. “Sherlock, we really need to talk about this,” he murmured quietly. “You zoned….”

”Yes, I zoned. It’s not the first time it’s happened and probably won’t be the last. But it’s no reason to have to discuss that ...that thing that happened." Sherlock waved his hands vaguely and shot a worried look at John. A sharp wrench of hurt went through John. Was Sherlock going to deny what happened?  Angry, he spoke sarcastically without thinking.

“You mean our meeting in the spirit world and me guiding you out of it? “ Sherlock practically hissed at him. ”This is not the place to discuss that, John! Be careful what you’re saying!” Sherlock quickly checked the area for eavesdroppers.

John deflated. He was ashamed of his outburst. Sherlock was only trying to protect him, after all.  Lowering his voice, he apologised.  “I’m sorry, Sherlock. You’re right. But this is important!”

Sherlock wavered to his feet. “All right, we’ll discuss it, but don’t expect too much from me. You know I can’t…this is not something I can….” He trailed off and his eyes begged John not to pursue the subject at the moment.

John was disappointed but agreed. Whispering, he said, “I don’t mean to put you on the spot. I will not force you into doing anything you don’t want.  Okay?” Sherlock glanced briefly at him and nodded. “But we do need to talk about this, right? Before you go on your trip, yes? I need to know what this means to you.”

Sherlock sighed and nodded. “Get us a cab, will you John?” Sherlock still seemed shaken and more upset than the situation warranted. 

_Three days later_

Keeping his pace steady and his manner casual, John planned his movements carefully. Leaving the hospital had been easy. No one had noticed his departure. He thought he’d seen a couple of Protectors at one of the main entrances, but he’d decided not use his empathy to find out for sure and had headed in the opposite direction.

First was a visit to his bank, where he withdrew everything but the minimum amount needed to keep the account open.  Unfortunately, it wasn’t much but it was enough to get him out of the country if necessary. 

His next stop was the gym where he’d done his physiotherapy when he’d first arrived in London, ill and alone.  The gym had been recommended by Bill Murray, one of his former team mates who’d saved his life in Afghanistan. John had kept a membership after he’d finished his physio. There were instructors there who helped him keep fit and continued to teach him how build on what he’d learnt from his former commando team mates. He worked hard to keep fit and in practice and was proud of what he’d been able to accomplish, despite the wound. It was hard, dangerous work running after Sherlock and he wanted to be able to use all his skills to protect the both of them.

As a member, he had his own locker where he kept various items that were going to be very useful to him if he was to avoid being captured by the Tower. After the gym, John needed to find a safe house and go to ground until he could decide what he was going to do. And he needed to contact Sherlock. His ultimate decisions hinged on what Sherlock wanted to do after John told him what was happening.

John considered ringing Sherlock or at least texting him. Uncertainty about what exactly to tell him concerning the Tower’s custody warrant made him hesitate. His thoughts kept running round and round in circles and not coming up with any decisions.

_Three days previously_

Both were silent in the cab on the ride home. Sherlock was still shaking off the effects of the zone and John was rather freaked out by what he’d done. He didn’t speak until they got into the foyer. “Sherlock, look, I’m sorry…”

“Not now. Please. My brother is here.”  Sherlock did look apologetic and John subsided again. They climbed the stairs to find Mycroft sitting in John’s chair, coat and umbrella hung neatly from the coat rack.

”Hello, brother mine.” Mycroft’s smiling face was smug, his hands folded carefully in his lap. As he slowly removed his jacket, John looked around and noticed that all the white noise machines were turned on. That was odd because he always turned them off when he left the flat. John wondered what Mycroft was up to this time. Sherlock threw off his coat and scarf and headed for his room.

“I don’t have time for you right now, Mycroft,” he sneered over his shoulder.

Mycroft sighed heavily. “Yes, I know. Your flight to Vancouver, which I have apparently paid for, will be leaving in three hours. I don’t know why you don’t use your own money. Mummy and I have made sure you have full access to your trust fund now.” 

Sherlock turned around at the doorway to his room. “You know why. The minute I touch even a penny, Mummy and Father will take it as permission to intrude into _all_ aspects of my life. I won’t have it. I’d rather starve to death.”

Mycroft sighed and gave up for the moment as his brother disappeared into his room and slammed the door. “Hello, John.” The smile he gave John was more of a displeased grimace. 

Always polite despite any and all provocation, John nodded and smiled back. “Would you care for some tea, Mycroft?” Mycroft’s expression changed a fraction, approaching a true smile. “Yes, please.  Milk and sugar. Do you have any biscuits?”

He fixed a plate of biscuits and three mugs of tea. Before he went back into the lounge area, he set one mug and a biscuit on the table for Sherlock despite his cry of “No time!” as the detective sailed in and out of the kitchen for some reason John couldn’t determine.

Shaking his head at his flatmate’s antics, John sat in Sherlock’s chair facing Mycroft. They drank their tea and listened to Sherlock rummage frantically around in his room for a while. John was rather quiet, afraid of what he’d done at the bridge and worried about how Sherlock was going to react to what he wanted to propose. He’d really hoped they’d have a chance to talk about it, but it didn’t seem that was going to happen for a few days. John supposed he still had plenty of time to bring the subject up and it was probably best not to try to force the issue while Sherlock was still a bit shaky.  It took a few minutes for him to realize that Mycroft was staring at him with a speculative look in his eyes.

John frowned at him. “What? Do I have something on my face?” He wiped at his upper lip with his serviette but Mycroft shook his head.

“I don’t recommend you try it with Sherlock, John.” 

John frowned. ”What are you on about?” Mycroft often confused John, but at least he usually knew what subject they were talking about. This time he was at a total loss.

”Your plan to ask Sherlock to form a bond with you.  It won’t work. Sherlock is an alpha sentinel. Even if he wanted to bond to a guide, he won’t accept a less than optimum bond with a non-guide empath.

“I’ve seen your file. You’re supposed to be a level four empath. And you’re a beta. Even if you were a full guide our family would never allow you to bond with Sherlock.”  Mycroft looked a bit too knowing for John’s peace of mind. 

He should be used to the Holmes brothers reading his mind, but he hadn’t expected the elder Holmes to be practically clairvoyant.  The fact was John _had_ planned to ask Sherlock to bond with him, just as Mycroft had said. Was Mycroft implying he knew John’s empathy was quite a bit stronger than a level four? John wouldn’t be the first empath who fibbed on his official paperwork.  It wasn’t a crime to lie about your empath status but it would be soon if the proposed legislation passed in the next few months.

“What are you talking about, Mycroft? I don’t understand.” Deciding to play dumb probably wasn’t the best plan, but it was all John could come up with at the moment.

“Of course you do, John. Please don’t be disingenuous.” Mycroft’s smile gentled, expressing fake concern for the doctor. Unexpectedly angry, John narrowed his eyes at him.  “I know you care deeply for my brother but you’re not appropriate for him. Once the new laws pass, there will soon be a glut of guides to choose from and our family is in a position to pick from the best possible for him. But that’s not what’s being planning for Sherlock.

“Soon, he’ll be strongly encouraged to give up this… lifestyle.” Mycroft looked around the flat in distaste and continued. “Consulting sentinel detective is an interesting hobby, but our family has arranged an important position in the government for him that will further the interests of our family and our position within society. 

“Sherlock has serious responsibilities. As the sole alpha sentinel in our immediate family, he is the only one who can carry on our ancestral name. Mummy has chosen an omega from an excellent family for Sherlock and has made it clear to him that he must obey her in this.  And, as you know, a sentinel, especially an alpha sentinel, cannot form a bond with two separate people. He must choose either a guide or an omega and cannot have both.

“So you have to understand, John, that Sherlock must choose the path of spouse and family. He needs to grow up, leave all this behind and take on the responsibilities of adulthood. You encourage him too much in his hobby.”

John couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Are you saying I’m no good and a bad influence on him? That I need to leave here for his own good?”  The doctor was incredulous, angry and hurt. Sherlock had never said a word to him about this and he must have been furious at all this parental intrusiveness.   

Lowering his voice, he practically jeered at Mycroft in disbelief. “Do you honestly think Sherlock will go along with this? Are you sure you’re his brother? You don’t seem to know him at all!” 

“I assure you I am completely serious in this matter. Sherlock has been informed of this and knows his duty.” Mycroft lifted his chin and looked down his rather long nose at John.

Until he’d met Sherlock, John had never wanted to bond with anyone. He was perfectly happy in his chosen persona as a beta low level empath. But if the legislation attempting to roll back the guide and omega reforms of the 1970’s passed, he and every other adult under the age of fifty in the country would have to be tested by the Tower.

He would be discovered as a guide strength empath. Worse than that, the Tower would find out he was also an omega disguised as a beta. He would disappear into the bowels of the Tower and never be allowed to see the light of day until his fertility failed.  Omega guides were the rarest of all guides and, if found unbonded, had no legal autonomy over their lives. They were automatically the property of the Tower that discovered them.

It was no wonder John desperately wanted to keep his secrets.  Getting down to brass tacks, the best solution for John was to bond with Sherlock. The Tower would no longer have any claim on him and, if the proposed legislation passed, the new laws couldn’t touch him. 

His only other option was to leave the country and that was the last resort. But with this new information from Mycroft, John’s plans came crashing down. He felt shattered and bereft, but he couldn’t honestly say he had the right to those feelings as Sherlock had agreed to nothing but a discussion. 

Trusting Sherlock with his life, John had fully intended to reveal to his potential bond mate his guide nature as well as his actual gender before making his proposal. But he’d apparently been stupid and had waited too long. Somehow he’d never considered that Sherlock might reject him in favour of his family.

 But…why would the Holmes family forbid him to bond with Sherlock?  Would they continue to reject him if they knew he was an omega guide? Or was this some kind of class thing?  Sherlock, for all his posh ways, had never seemed to be class-conscious. His actions proved the opposite, in fact. His friendships with various members of his homeless network was a case in point.

John was outraged. He wanted to pinch himself to see if he was having a nightmare or maybe hallucinating that he was somehow living a Regency romance novel.

“Knows his duty…!  Mycroft, this is the twenty-first century! Sherlock isn’t some Victorian maiden! Your family can’t force him into some kind of arranged marriage!”

”He knows his duty,” Mycroft repeated.  “He’s an alpha sentinel. I’m a beta sentinel and any children my guide Anthea and I have will not be allowed to inherit. Our ancestral property is entailed, unfortunately. Sherlock will also inherit the family titles and money once he bonds, as well.” Mycroft looked sour. “It’s all up to Sherlock at this point.”

Everything John had hoped for might be for naught if Sherlock couldn’t or wouldn’t stand up to his family. And did John even have the right to ask Sherlock to do that and disregard his family’s wishes? Could he ask Sherlock to give up all the family wealth and titles, whatever they might be? Just for a plain, damaged, former soldier? When he probably had a young, beautiful omega of good family waiting for him?  His resolve wavered and his heart sank.  It was indeed up to Sherlock.

John was about to reply when his mind was invaded with a strong feeling of anxiety and misery. He turned around quickly in his chair, heart pounding, to see Sherlock standing in the kitchen doorway behind him.  The sensations were intense and, despite Sherlock’s face being completely emotionless, John knew these feelings were coming from his flatmate. 

What exactly was happening?  Had they formed a rudimentary bond in the spirit world?  John cursed his ignorance of guide lore though he was pretty certain that they’d not bonded.  From what he’d been told, that was a rather passionate experience involving particular body parts and nudity.  He certainly would have remembered if that had occurred. But Sherlock’s emotions were slipping past his shields as if they weren’t there, so some connection had been established by their experience together in the blue forest. He wondered if Sherlock was similarly affected.

Noticing he was being observed, Sherlock’s face closed down and his nostrils flared as his angry gaze switched to Mycroft.  John waited for Sherlock to flay his older brother, but nothing happened. He glanced back up at Sherlock only to see a look of despair and desperation that echoed the feelings the detective was broadcasting flit across Sherlock’s face so quickly he almost missed it.

“I have to go now,” the detective said quickly. John noticed for the first time his suitcase was packed and sitting by the door.  “Mycroft, I need a lift to the airport.” The elder Holmes nodded and rose, extending his hand to John, who shook it in stunned silence. He looked back and forth between the two brothers as they prepared to leave, not knowing what to say.  Sherlock glanced miserably at him a few times and hesitated at the door as Mycroft went down the stairs. He then turned and practically fled down the stairs.

Disappointment, desolation and frustration enveloped John. His head was spinning from the speed of events and he couldn’t quite make sense of what he’d just learnt. 

Maybe making another mug of tea might help. As he moved slowly toward the kitchen, he heard footsteps bounding up the stairs. Turning back, he saw Sherlock standing in the doorway, looking exceedingly serious and grim.

“Sherlock! What’s wrong? Did you forget something?” Confusion now warred with the anxiety he’d been experiencing.  The emotions of misery and despair he’d been picking up from Sherlock were now drowned in fear.

Sherlock seemed tongue-tied. “I’m so sorry about all of this, John.”

“It’s fine. I understand.” John watched, strangely fascinated, as Sherlock fidgeted. He’d never really seen that before and hadn’t known Sherlock capable. He was about to say something else when his flatmate stepped forward and gently pressed dry lips to his in a chaste kiss. Before John could respond, he’d stepped back, looking panicked. 

”Oh, no you don’t,” John growled and grabbed Sherlock by the lapels of his ridiculous coat. He gave the detective a snogging he wouldn’t soon forget. At first Sherlock was stiff with shock, then relaxed into it and crushed John to his chest. John let go of the coat and wrapped his arms around Sherlock’s neck and held on as if he were drowning. Without conscious thought, just as it had in the blue forest, John’s empathy wrapped around them both and enveloped them with warmth, love and comfort as the kiss deepened. 

Running out of air, John finally had to break the embrace and the haze of empathy dissipated slowly from around them. Still holding on tightly to _his_ sentinel, _his_ alpha, John’s possessive gaze rose to Sherlock, who was staring at him with a strange combination of astonishment and worship. John was amazed at the extent of his friend’s bravery for making the first move, though he probably shouldn’t have been. No one could ever call Sherlock a coward. But Sherlock didn’t do emotions. At least, John really hadn’t thought so until now. Emotions practically poured off of him and John could feel every one.

”That was… unexpected,” Sherlock whispered. John smiled at Sherlock’s gob smacked expression and didn’t bother to answer as he dreamily rubbed his thumb over Sherlock’s swollen upper lip. He’d always wanted to do that.

“Right. Okay. I have to leave. Or I’ll be late.  I didn’t want you to think…that I don’t care. Just… just wait for me, all right? I’ll be back in a few days. There’s time to sort this out. I’m working on a solution.”  Amused at how inarticulate he’d made his friend, John could only nod and give him a half smile. _I did that to him_.  The doctor got a small smile in return and Sherlock left.  

 _Fuck you, Mycroft Holmes_ , thought John smugly. He did have a chance.

_Three days later:_

John considered his options as he walked. The gym was a few miles south, away from the hospital nearer the river, so he had some time to think. Pushing down his worries, he tried to order his thoughts and pay attention to what he was doing. He needed to make a plan.  It was harder than he expected because he was so out of practice. He was forgetting some basic tenets of working in the field such as not letting his fear and anxiety get the upper hand and remembering to evaluate everything as a potential threat. He’d got mentally soft in the year he’d been away from the wars. That had to change.

John spent the trip to the gym scanning his environment with his empathy the way he had been trained to do in the desert. Keeping alert had meant keeping himself and his team mates alive.  

He made it to his destination without incident but waited in the mouth of an alley to make sure he’d not been tailed. Using his empathy like radar, he swept the surrounding area for danger. Everything was as it should be. The area was sparsely populated during the middle of the day so there were very few people about. 

Watching the CCTV cameras carefully, he walked confidently across the street, up the steps and into the gym. He knew he was probably being a bit paranoid about the cameras, but it never hurt to be careful, especially when Mycroft had access to them. He still wasn’t sure who turned him in and Mycroft was one of the top suspects.

The familiar smell of the place hit him as he made his way to the locker room, waving at Marty as he passed by the main office.  The manager stuck his head out of the door and called after him, “Hey, Doc! There’s a message for you!” Surprised, John turned and followed Marty into the small room.

”Hi, Marty. What’s up?” Marty had been a Royal Marine and was now retired. He was still tough as nails and was one of John’s favourite sparring partners. He’d taught John some amazing things and had adapted certain fighting techniques to help strengthen and protect his damaged shoulder. John was very fond of him. ”I got a message for you. Big, blond bloke came by the other day and dropped it off.  He said it wasn’t urgent. Knew you’d be in sooner or later so I put it here somewhere.” Marty shuffled a bunch of papers around on his desk and came up with a medium sized manila envelope.

“Here you go.”  John thanked him and headed back to the locker room. He had a feeling he knew who had sent it.

Thankfully, the locker room was fairly empty, being as it was the middle of the day. Sitting on the bench in front of his locker, John took a moment to close his eyes and just breathe.  A sense of urgency kept picking at him, but he pushed it down. He was safe here for the time being and needed to relax and clear his mind so he could equip himself and make a viable plan. But first, he opened the envelope he’d picked up from Marty.

Just as he’d expected, there was a note from Forrester and a new mobile.  He had recognised his former commander’s guide’s handwriting immediately.

Inside was a simple message. _‘Doc. Keep in touch. We’re concerned and will help if needed. The mobile is activated and untraceable.’_ There was a number written down that John immediately memorised.  It was nice to know Henderson and Forrester had his back if necessary.

Forrester must have been keeping an eye on the political events in the UK and knew what the effect would be on him if the legislation passed.  He had confessed to her his desire to stay with Sherlock after she and Henderson had offered him a spot in their newly formed mercenary outfit.

She hadn’t tried hard to change his mind when he’d turned them down, though. She was a guide herself, bonded outside a Tower’s interference, to a sentinel of her own choosing and she understood all too well that John wanted the same thing. He smiled with fondness. He had always known Starr was a secret romantic.  The note and mobile were her way of giving him another option if Sherlock rejected him. 

On that unwelcome thought, John quickly switched mental gears and opened his locker to reveal a rather large rucksack.  Pulling out various items, John placed them on the bench beside him, making a mental inventory of what he might need for the next few days. _My basic urban survival kit_ , he thought to himself with black humour.   

There were important items like fake identifications and passports, small amounts of various types of currency, a makeup kit, changes of clothing and shoes but most importantly, he unpacked what he jokingly called his chain mail pants. 

A gift from Henderson before John was discharged, it was a matte black, light-weight Kevlar-type mesh undergarment that was so advanced in design that it was still classified. No one on John’s team had known what the material was made from.  Issued to only certain commando groups, it was a multi-piece article of protective gear, thin enough to be worn under street clothing or a uniform.

There were separate pieces for each part of the body that, when fully assembled, covered all vital areas as well as the extremities and throat.  The garment was similar to thermals in many respects. It allowed the skin to breathe but also insulated and worked well in both hot and cold climates. The fabric could easily turn a knife, could slow down a bullet and would certainly stop a taser or a tranquilliser dart.  

Removing all his clothing except his pants, socks and vest, John assembled the garment beginning with the leg pieces. Each section attached with Velcro, which made it adjustable and very easy to put on or remove in case of emergencies. The piece that went around the throat was somewhat noticeable with an open necked shirt but would be invisible with a polo neck. Since the Tower sentinels were armed with darts as well as tasers, he needed to make sure his more vulnerable areas were well protected. He left off the elbow, groin and knee pads because they were bulkier and would be noticeable.

John redressed in black jeans, a dark blue polo neck and boots that gave him another two inches of height. There were also cleverly hidden compartments in the boots where he could hide money, small tools and documents. His belt also had places to hide various useful tools that were easily accessible. 

He chuckled a bit at the absurdity that his life had become. He thought he’d left all this cloak and dagger shite behind him. It now seemed that was not going to be the case and apparently you never knew when you might need that micro thin carbon fibre cable or a shoe phone.

 _Speaking of electronics_ , John reached into the rucksack and removed what looked like an mp3 player. It was actually a rather powerful radio interception device.  The battery was out so he found a nearby power point and plugged it into the charger.  Tucking the earpieces in, he tuned the device to the Tower’s frequency and listened. 

From the chatter he could decipher, Deeds and Wilson had been found and his escape noted rather loudly. Tower control was now calling in all off duty Protectors and unassigned bonded sentinels to come to the Tower. 

This was bad and rather perplexing news.  Why would they call in all Tower sentinels for plain old John Watson?  Bloody hell. All they knew of him officially was that he was beta and a low level empath, possibly hiding a guide strength empathic ability. That wasn’t uncommon and he couldn’t understand why they were going to all this effort.  What did they know or think they knew?  Could they be planning a Hunt? Such a thing hadn’t happened in years, decades maybe. He wasn’t sure.

If the Tower alphas were planning a Hunt, it meant moving around the city would be much more difficult. Chances were good that they’d approach the media for help in locating him.  He’d have to find a safe place and stay put until he could reach Sherlock.

Leaving the radio to charge, he returned to the locker and rucksack. He needed more intel before he could move out. Picking up the mobiles liberated from Deeds and Wilson, he scrolled through the lists of contacts and then looked at their saved texts.  His blood ran cold with disbelief and then hot with anger when he recognised a number on both of the mobiles.

So, it was Mycroft who’d turned his name into the Tower authorities, the unmitigated bastard. Did Mycroft think that if John was permanently out of the way, Sherlock would be more likely to go along with his family’s plans for him? Well, he had another think coming.  Mycroft apparently did not know his brother very well. And he knew John not at all.

If John was captured, he knew for a fact that Sherlock wouldn’t rest until he found out what happened and why.  Then there would be some serious hell to pay and when Sherlock found out about his brother’s involvement, there would be blood.  John looked forward to seeing that because he was bound and determined to stay out of the Tower’s hands and present the evidence of Mycroft’s complicity in this betrayal to his hopefully future bond mate. 

Now that he knew Mycroft was involved, however, his paranoia ratcheted up and with good cause. It didn’t exactly explain why the Tower was acting so aggressively but now he knew how they had been able to find him. After all, he had the use of unlimited governmental resources and it was possible that he could trace John’s location through the use of his mobile. And John had first hand proof of Mycroft’s ability to control the CCTV cameras.  A thought struck him suddenly.  Did Mycroft know of John’s membership to this gym?  It wouldn’t surprise him in the slightest. He needed to get moving and soon.

There was a small holdall that he removed from the locker.  He considered whether to take the contents with him and decided that he wouldn’t need the Browning or the knives.  The Tower wanted him unhurt and he honestly didn’t want to kill or seriously injure the sentinels that would be sent after him. He certainly didn’t need any murder charges against him if he wanted to stay in London with Sherlock.

He’d got off easy with the death of that serial killer cabbie, Jefferson Hope. Lestrade had not known it was John who had pulled the trigger, but John was pretty sure Mycroft knew and had done nothing because John had done it to protect Sherlock. .

John wondered if Mycroft knew about Jim from St. Bart’s IT department, too. If he did, he knew that John would not allow anyone to harm Sherlock in any way, either directly or indirectly. Jim had tried to hurt the detective by abducting John and had found out the hard way that John was no one’s pet and the doctor was absolutely ruthless to his and Sherlock’s enemies. As far as he knew, no one had found the body yet.

Did Mycroft not realise just how dangerous John could be to him?  Mycroft’s actions suggested not.  It was a strange blindness on Mycroft’s part and John thought about how he might exploit it. Maybe the elder Holmes thought the Tower would succeed in capturing John and he wouldn’t have to worry about any retaliation.  If so, he was quite wrong.

John removed the weapons and packed them into the rucksack. He kept one knife and strapped it to his forearm under his shirt, just in case. Knives were useful for all sorts of things, not just for gutting an enemy, after all.

The holdall was filled with a couple of changes of clothes, pants and socks. It was actually more like a messenger bag, rather flat and wide. It could be carried on his back easily. Making sure he had everything he needed, John shoved the rucksack back into the locker along with the two mobiles he’d taken from Deeds and Wilson.

It was time to contact Sherlock.  He checked the new phone, which was fully charged and memorised the number. Quickly, he sent a text to his friend letting him know that he was changing his phone, would ring soon and sent the new number he would be using.

John had no idea how it worked, but he suspected it was somehow linked to some satellite or other. He really didn’t want to know, to be honest.  

John erased the memory on his old phone and removed the SIM card.  It went into the locker with the others while he pocketed the new one.

Unplugging the radio from the power point, he tucked it and the charge cord into an inside pocket and inserted one of the earpieces, leaving the other to dangle. To most people, it would look as if he were listening to music on an iPod instead of eavesdropping on Tower communications.

Mentally checking everything over before he closed up the locker for good, he realised he’d forgotten his hormone suppressants. There was enough in the tin for another month.  Quickly tucking them into a front pocket of his coat, he shut the locker, took a deep breath and stood.  Time to move.

Stopping by the loo, he flushed the message from Forrester and the old SIM card. Pulling the ball cap back over his head, John headed for the exit at the rear of the gym.  Waving goodbye to Marty, he headed out the door to find a place to lay low and wait for Sherlock.

                                                _______________________

 _Christ on a crutch, it must be a seriously slow news day_ , John thought as he sat on the bed of a run-down hotel on the East side of London, watching the evening news broadcast with fascinated horror and disbelief. A take away container with spinach vindaloo sat forgotten in front of him as he watched mobile phone videos of himself taking down four Protectors.  Forgetting the pain of his bruises and scraped knuckles as well as his hunger, he couldn’t look away from the telly.

It was surreal to see this on the news and a bit frightening. Thankfully the quality of the videos was poor so it was very unlikely anyone would recognise him. The baseball cap hid his face pretty well, too.

The various highlights of the fight seemed to be on a repeat loop playing in the background behind a pretty blonde television journalist.  She introduced someone’s name he didn’t catch and the camera cut to another interchangeably pretty blonde reporter standing on a street he unfortunately recognised, having been there rather recently. .

“Linda, we have learned very little specific information about the incident at this point. Around half three this afternoon, eyewitnesses reported an unidentified man being pursued by a group of four Tower Protectors and their guides.” She turned and walked down the sidewalk, holding the microphone in one hand and gesturing along the road ahead of her, still speaking. 

“Witnesses say the man appeared to have been running east along this street for at least a mile when the Protectors cut him off right here at this alley, surrounded him and began shooting at him with tasers and tranquilliser darts.”  The camera cut to an area cordoned off with yellow police tape and disgruntled Met officers picking multiple darts off the ground and bagging them. John was relieved that he didn’t recognise any of the officers. He half expected to see Anderson there.

The reporter continued, “The darts and tasers had no effect, however. And, as you can see from the videos shot by a number of witnesses, the unidentified man, using what some have described as, “ she looked down at her notes,  ‘awesome Ninja moves’, rendered all the Protectors unconscious within 30 seconds. Once the Protectors were down, the man ran from the scene and disappeared into the crowds.”  

The fight began to replay on screen. The person recording the fight had a good angle and had kept his camera phone fairly still.  John watched again with a critical eye.  Thank goodness for his chain mail pants. He’d been hit by so many darts he looked like a pincushion.

Roberts would be ashamed at the lack of height he’d got on that flying kick. He’d been aiming for the man’s chest but it wasn’t his fault these damn sentinels tended to be so tall and he’d kicked the man in the gut instead. It had worked and that’s all that really mattered.   The sweeping kick and follow up elbow to the face on the second attacker was nice, though.   

It was then that big bastard had tackled him and knocked them both into the rubbish bins.  His hip and shoulder ached remembering how hard they’d hit the pavement and how he’d grappled with a man who probably outweighed him by at least five stone. The sentinel had grabbed his arms but John had twisted frantically and kneed him in the bollocks.

He’d gone down like a felled tree. John had just managed to get upright when the last one was on him, using the taser to no effect.  The look on his face was almost funny when he looked at his weapon in bewilderment, only to look back up in time to get John’s elbow to his forehead.

He’d shot all of them with darts and had taken off running again without really noticing the crowd that had assembled. He had seen and noted that at least two of the sentinels had their guides with them, which was a bit unusual.  The guides were shouting into their radios as he sped past them but he managed to get away and to this ratty hotel.

He focused back on the telly as the reporter continued.  “The Tower has refused to comment on this incident but we have been informed from our Tower liaison that a press conference is to be called within the next 24 hours.”

The picture of the reporter shrank down to a box beside the broadcaster sitting in the studio. “So what can we assume from all this, Janet?”

“We just don’t know what provoked this incident today but our viewers should stay tuned as we discover more details in the hours to come.   Back to you, Linda.”

The blonde newscaster thanked her colleague and turned to two men who had joined her at the news desk.

“Please welcome our guests Dr Paul Barris and Mr David Garrigan, MP. Gentlemen, you’re both acknowledged experts on the history and politics of the London Sentinel Tower.  I’ve just been informed there was a similar confrontation late this morning at Saint Bart’s Hospital where two Protectors were assaulted. Again, the Tower is not commenting on the incident.  What do you think is happening here? This all seems a bit out of the ordinary. Dr Barris?”

“Thank you, Linda.  What we are seeing is indeed unusual for the Tower. They are pursuing this man with an intensity I’ve rarely seen. Until we hear from the Tower, all we can truly do is theorise, but two prevailing hypotheses are this man is a powerful rogue guide they are intent on catching or he has committed a crime against the Tower.

“What we do know is that he’s older than most guides who are discovered and captured, so he’s obviously very good at hiding what he is from everyone, even those closest to him.  This means that he’s likely extremely intelligent and clever.

“From what we’ve seen, he’s very capable of defending himself when threatened and so I suspect he’s either active or former military or police. A colleague of mine, a former Army officer, recognised some of the martial arts moves as being unique to the Royal Marines. 

“My educated guess is that this man is a rogue guide who has some kind of ability or skill set that the Tower apparently wants as opposed to a criminal. In any event, the Tower does have the legal right to pursue without interference from the police.”

The blonde smiled widely. “Thank you, Doctor. Mr Garrigan, what is your take on this situation? Do you agree with Dr Barris that this man might be a powerful guide rather than a criminal?”

“I do, Linda.  I think the Tower is very interested in this particular person. What surprises me is the vigour that the Tower is using to pursue this man. He must have something very special that they want.  And it is apparent that he is extremely reluctant to be caught.

“The fact is that the Tower only needs to be patient for a few months and, if the proposed legislation passes, there will be a glut of new guides.  I admit we need more guides, but for the record, I oppose this legislation. It’s draconian and will be the cause of many families being split apart as many men and women are forced into testing and then taken from their homes, careers and families.  It’s horrendous on a scale that no one seems to be willing to admit.  I’ve always supported the guide and omega reforms of the 60’s and ’70, and am horrified by this attempt to roll back their rights.

“I don’t know why this man has been targeted now. All I can surmise is that if they don’t capture him at this point in time, he’ll become somehow unavailable to them. He might have a family he wants to protect or is planning to leave the country. I just know that he’s doing his best to avoid the Tower and I wish him good luck in whatever he’s trying to do. He has a lot of courage to defy the Towers in this. They have considerable political clout at the moment and aren’t afraid to use it against the common people.”

“Thank you, Mr Garrigan. It seems we’ll all have to be patient and wait for official word from the Towers.

“In other news, today…“  John sighed and switched off the telly. 

He had been wondering some of the same things as he was being pursued by the Tower’s sentinels. Why were they so insistent?   

He’d been discovered about four streets from the gym but didn’t realise it until he’d seen the guides in the alleyway.  He had speculated on why he’d not picked up on the danger presented by the sentinels. His empathic radar was usually infallible but not when there was interference by other guides.  He’d not really worked at cross purposes with other guides before.

In fact, he’d never met a sentinel and guide paring until he’d run into Henderson and Forrester.  His home town had no sentinels or guides that he knew of and they had lived far from any large cities with Towers.  He’d worked closely with Forrester when he’d been tapped to be a member of their team, but she was pretty much the only guide he’d ever known. She was the one who taught him everything he knew, but he was facing the unknown now.

John wanted desperately to tell Sherlock what was going on.  Something made him hold off, however.  He didn’t want to put pressure on his friend to make a decision. Asking Sherlock to defy his family and bond with him instead was an enormous thing to ask of his friend. And did he actually have the right to request anything that huge from Sherlock?

He had experienced everything that Sherlock had felt when he’d wrapped his empathy around them both as they’d kissed each other. It had been a revelation. Was that what it was like to be bonded? If so, it would be amazing!  He would never have guessed how deeply his friend had felt about him otherwise. But Sherlock didn’t know how John felt about him. While Sherlock trusted him with his life, John wasn’t sure if Sherlock trusted him with his heart yet.  John would have to show him but that could only be done face to face.  

After the detective had left, it hadn’t helped John’s insecurities to find an envelope hidden under some papers on Sherlock’s desk, full of glossy photos of available omegas that Sherlock’s mother had sent to him.  The omegas were everything John wasn’t; young, beautiful and perfect.

Sherlock leaving so quickly after that kiss had made John feel like his heart was wrenched out of his chest and torn in half. He was tired of that feeling and wanted Sherlock home. Staring at the mobile was not going to work. Gathering up the shreds of his courage, John picked up the phone and dialled Sherlock’s number.

The phone rang five times before it was answered. Hearing his flatmate’s beautifully modulated baritone had John’s shoulders relaxing and he sighed in relief at reaching Sherlock. 

“Hello, John. Are you all right?”

“Fine. I’m fine, Sherlock. Is this a good time to ring?  Are you working? What time is it there?” John could never remember time zones and he hoped he hadn’t woken Sherlock. He could be a bit nasty if he’d been knocked up too early.

“Yes, I’m currently at the medical examiner’s office. We’re just finishing up reviewing the autopsy reports and it’s now 11 am.  I’ve found some interesting data that I think we can use when Molly completes the report on her findings. Has any progress been made on her end? And has Lestrade mentioned anything? He was supposed to be doing some research on missing twins in the London area.”

“Missing twins?  I…, um, no.  I’ve not talked with either one lately. I’ve not given them the new number yet.”

”Oh, I see. Well, please let me know when you hear from them or tell them they can contact me directly. Though I don’t suppose either one will want to pay for an international call.” Sherlock sounded rather sour. “No matter. I’m almost done here.”

“It’s good. That you’re almost done then.” He felt awkward and wasn’t sure what to say. He tried to keep his voice light.  

“So.  Does that mean you’ll be home soon? I…I…” _I miss you. I can’t feel you any more. You’re too far away and I need you with me._  “I just wanted to find out, you see.”  He felt like an idiot and was surprised at how frayed his voice sounded. 

There was a moment of silence on the other end of the line.  “You’re repeating what I’m saying back to me and you sound weird.  Are you angry with me for leaving before we could discuss the events of the other day?”

“What? Oh, no…well, yes, a bit, but that’s not important right now.”  The walls in the hotel were paper thin and a drunk started shouting and singing right outside his door. John tried to shield the receiver but Sherlock was a sentinel so it was pretty much hopeless. _Shit._

Sherlock sounded concerned. “John? Is that a drunken person in the flat? But the acoustics don’t reverberate that way. It sounds like you’re in a hotel room, John. Why aren’t you home?  What’s happening? Is there something wrong at the flat? Is Mrs Hudson well?”

John smiled at the verbal barrage. “I’m fine. The flat and Mrs Hudson are fine as far as I know. I am at a hotel, though. It’s a bit of a long story and we can talk about it when you get home.” John rushed to change the subject. He was such a coward. “So can you tell me when you’re coming home?” 

Thankfully, Sherlock cooperated with the change in subject. “I have gathered as much information as I can here.  The police have been surprisingly helpful and the medical examiner is not a total incompetent.” That was actually high praise from the sentinel detective. “There’s a flight out early tomorrow morning so I hope to be back in London sometime in the late evening.” 

His tone somewhat hesitant, Sherlock continued. “John.  I… what you wanted to talk to me about? I know what you want and you should know…,” he trailed off and John could hear him speaking to someone else in the room. He came back to the phone. “I need to go in a minute. I’ll ring you later but I just want you to know that…I’m sorry, just a moment.”

There was some more fumbling and Sherlock was back. His voice was softer and deeper than usual. “I’m alone for the moment. I’ve had these few days to really think about things and I can’t do it. You need to know that…this is difficult for me, John.”

The doctor’s heart sank and he felt ill. He should have expected that Sherlock would have difficulty defying his powerful family. Anyone would. He interrupted, his voice ragged. “It’s fine, Sherlock. I understand. I know it’s asking too much of anyone to oppose their family’s wishes…”

“No, John! That’s not what I’m trying to say. Please. It’s difficult for me to talk about how I feel about anything and I knew I’d make a hash of it.”  Sherlock sounded wrung out. “You know emotions are really not my area. I tend to rely on you for that.” Sherlock sounded a bit wry and John’s hopes rose a bit.

The detective plunged on. “The fact is, I rely on you now for most things and I don’t want that to change. These last few days alone have made me understand that I can’t live without you. I don’t know how I could possibly have ever lived without you.  

“If you want to bond with me, I’ll be happy to try. I know you’re officially a level four but I think we can make it work. Do you want to try? Will you bond with me?” Sherlock’s voice wobbled a bit, sounding vulnerable and scared.

After being handed everything he ever wanted on a silver platter, John’s throat took that moment to completely close up on him.  “Yes! Sherlock, yes,” came out as a squeak but Sherlock seemed to understand. 

The detective took in a deep breath through his nose and blew it out audibly. ”Good. Very good. Well then. I’m glad that’s settled.” He sounded pleased and relieved. “We can talk more when I arrive home. Just so you know, if we manage to succeed in bonding, my family will make your life a living hell.”

John’s heart was bursting with a wild joy. “As long as we’re together, I don’t care, Sherlock. And yes, I think we can make it work, too. As long as you want this, too.”  

His happiness must have been pouring out of the phone because Sherlock sounded absolutely breathless as he replied, “Well, then.  That’s wonderful. We’ll talk again soon, right?”

”Yes. All right, then. I… I miss you,” John whispered, voice barely functioning again. _I love you._

Sherlock seemed to have picked up what John didn’t say. “I ...me, too. I have to go. Goodbye, John,” Sherlock murmured back and then disconnected.

John felt like he’d been hit by a lorry, but in a good way. Everything he’d hoped for was going to come true, but only if he could stay out of the Tower’s hands for another day.  The hotel where he was staying was fairly inexpensive and he’d paid through to tomorrow, so he could just stay put. No problem. John couldn’t stop smiling.

The release of stress felt like waves of heat radiating off of his shoulders. He felt light as air and the world seemed ten times brighter. 

Finishing his dinner, the doctor remembered he’d not taken his hormone suppressant for the day. It took him a moment to remember where he’d put them, but when he searched for them in his jacket, they weren’t there. He tore frantically through the rest of his belongings, just in case he’d misremembered where he’d put them. But they weren’t to be found anywhere.

He sat stunned for a few minutes before the realisation hit him like a punch to the gut. They must have been lost when the Protector had thrown him into those rubbish bins.  This meant the pills had probably been found by the Police after the fight, which then meant that the Tower now knew he was taking omega hormone suppressants. So they now knew he was an omega guide. _Fucking hell!_

First things first.  John needed to be calm. He also needed the bloody suppressants. If he stopped taking them for more than a few days, he’d go into heat for the first time since he was sixteen. He wasn’t ready for that. Getting more pills had just become a major priority. That meant going out. Well fuck. It was risky but it had to be done.

Acting quickly, he dialled the chemists where he had a refill prescription.  They were open late, which was why he’d chosen them in the first place.  With Sherlock’s schedule, he never knew when he’d have time to go do something so mundane as visit the chemists’ shop. The only drawback was that the shop was close to the Baker Street flat. He’d have to risk it.  

The prescription was under a false name. His doctor was a former classmate and also an omega who, like him, had chosen to live as a beta and understood the need for secrecy and discretion. The call got him the promise of a refill and he was ready to go.  Making sure he had taken everything he needed and checking the time, he reluctantly decided to pay a cab to take him to the chemist.

At his request, the taxi dropped him off a couple of streets away from the shop.  He wasn’t really expecting any trouble but kept alert anyway. There were still many people on the streets wandering in and out of the shops, pubs and restaurants that stayed open late. At any other time he’d have enjoyed being out and about amongst all the other people.  Sherlock loved to people watch and John had learned to enjoy it as well.  

There were far too many people to effectively scan for threats, so he kept his shields up high. It was a good thing he did so. As he reached the front door of the shop, agony lanced through his head and he stumbled to one knee. At first he thought he’d been shot in the head or was experiencing an aneurysm.  The throbbing pain increased and his vision began to waver. Shocked and disoriented, the doctor finally realised his shields were under attack.  He’d never experienced anything like it before. 

Confused but able to shore up his weakening defences now that he understood what was happening, the doctor staggered to his feet and spun around, back to the shop window, to find his attackers.

There were at least three guides with their Protectors dressed in street clothes on the sidewalk surrounding him in a rough semi-circle. He’d not seen them at all.  Did they have a way to disguise themselves from him?  John’s spirit guide had said he still had much to learn. He cursed his lack of knowledge but there was no help for it.

These guides were trying to force their way into his head. Forrester had never told him that this was possible. Maybe she didn’t know either.  John had little instruction whilst these guides had centuries of Tower tradition and education behind them.  Except for holding his shields firm, John had no real idea how to stop them.  How had they found him? Did he have a tracer on him somewhere or did they have a way to track his calls, despite Forrester’s assurances? 

There was another blast against his shields that literally drove him back against the window of the shop. Crying out in pain as his head and shoulders hit the glass, John sank to his knees again, trying with all his strength to keep the guides out of his head.

If they got past his shields, he was lost. Sherlock and their future together would be lost. He was not going to let that happen.  But fighting the three guides took all his energy and strength. And he still had to deal with the sentinels.

Something had to be done and fast, but thinking was so difficult right now.  Maybe it was better to give up?  No! Somehow the Tower guides had started to breach his crumbling defences and seep into his brain. Infuriated and desperate to hold onto his future, he began to actively fight back.  He had no idea what he was doing but whatever he was doing seemed to be working.

In the background he could hear voices being raised in anger but he didn’t have the energy to devote to figuring out what was going on.  He mentally surged against the guides and managed to stagger upright, face contorted into a grimace of extreme effort.

His vision cleared somewhat and he could see with satisfaction that all three guides in front of him were sweating heavily and appeared close to collapse. There was another attempt to violate his shields but it was much weaker than the last two efforts. The guides were looking exhausted, scared and afraid. Unfortunately, that seemed to be the signal for the sentinels to advance. John was weakening too but he wasn’t about to let these bastards win. 

Shouting started up again to his right making the sentinels hesitate briefly, and he shot a glance in that direction.  A group of young men and women were yelling at the sentinels and shaking their fists. He heard shouts of “Leave him alone, you wankers!” more than once from the throng of people drawn to the confrontation.

Stunned at the support he was receiving from the crowd, the doctor became distracted for just a critical moment and the guides attacked again. John wavered and his shields nearly buckled. He fought them back once more but didn’t know if he could do it again. He was seriously becoming afraid he might not win this.

When his vision cleared and he could breathe again, one of the sentinels had somehow materialised at his side and cuffed the doctor’s wrist without him being aware. The sentinel seemed to be as shocked as John was to have got so close and was reaching to cuff his other hand when John punched him in the face as hard as he could. The man went down like a sack of wet cement.  The former soldier twisted away from the limp body to face the others threatening him, a snarl on his lips and the handcuff dangling from his wrist. John was very aware that he had a terrible temper. It had been remarked on quite often as he grew from a child into an adult, but he’d congratulated himself on keeping it under wraps most of the time.  Unfortunately for the sentinel and guides in front of him, he had had enough.

All of his considerable rage and fear at what the Tower was threatening to take from him built and coalesced into an incandescent fury that he instinctively focused, directed and then literally blasted at the five people in front of him with terrifying accuracy.  

The three guides dropped without a sound and the two standing sentinels howled and collapsed, hit by the discharge of inhumanly strong psychic energy thrown at them with all of John’s pain and desperation behind it.  Even the non-empaths in the crowd could feel it and everyone stepped back in awe at what he’d done.

The doctor gazed absently at the prone figures on the sidewalk and tried to catch his breath as his head throbbed in time with his heart. The slight twitching of their limbs was the only indication that they weren’t dead. Frankly, he didn’t care if they were dead, damaged or just out cold.

John’s throat was raw from screaming out his anger and fear and he fell forward onto his hands and knees. Handcuff clanking loudly on the sidewalk, he gasped and tried to clear his head.  One of the hecklers from the crowd dashed forward and grasped his arm, helping him to sit up. He was a young man with long dreadlocks and a strong West Indian accent.

“Hey, man,” he said urgently, looking around at the crowd. “You need to get out of here. I heard them calling for back-up.  You have to run. Can you stand up?”  John nodded wearily and with the man’s help, got shakily to his feet. The crowd flowed forward and surrounded them as the sound of roaring engines, honking horns and shrieking tyres were heard from the street. ”I think that’s them. Go! Go, man! And good luck!” John thanked him and staggered off into a crowd that parted to allow him to pass and closed back up to hide him. 

He wobbled a bit but the burst of adrenalin he got from knowing the back-up had arrived steadied him.  The crowd had closed ranks and kept the Protectors confused whilst he gained a head start.  John started running.

His speed increased as his aching head finally began to clear. The hotel was too far away for him to make it on foot in his condition so he’d need to catch a taxi. But the possibility of pursuit was too close and he was afraid he’d be followed and cornered if he was seen hailing a cab. 

The chemists’ shop was close to the Baker Street flat so John was extremely familiar with the surrounding area.  Shaking a tail was going to be difficult but not impossible.

The familiar adrenaline fuelled hyperawareness that was his normal state of mind when on missions was beginning to settle on him. It allowed him to keep a close eye on his surroundings as he ran, dodging cars in the street and pelting through rubbish filled alleys.

Sherlock had delighted in taking John out to study the back ways and alleys of the city and they’d spent many a happy evening mapping out changes and new locations with the intent of being able to traverse the city quickly in pursuit of criminals. The knowledge he had gained was going to come in very useful despite the fact he was the one who was now considered to be the criminal. 

Knowing Sherlock would be back the next day kept his spirits up and he forged ahead with renewed energy.  People on the street stopped to watch him speed by them. He had a plan of where to go and if he could get there, he had a good chance of slipping any pursuer.  

Why had they not tried to shoot him with the tranquillisers back at the chemists? Were they trying to get him to incriminate himself by proving he had guide strength abilities? Well, if that was the case, then he had certainly fallen into that trap.  Right now he could care less.  Breathing was more important.

Rain began to fall lightly, misting the atmosphere and softening the night time illumination.  John knew someone was following. He took a quick moment to turn on the radio and listen in on the Tower’s frequency as he ran. Sure enough, they were reporting that John had been sighted and they were in pursuit. 

He was a bit puzzled and also amused to hear the Protectors who had arrived on the scene at the chemists complaining to the Tower that witnesses were refusing to help and some were outright interfering with the sentinels. 

The doctor was not completely surprised at the hostility toward the Protectors. It seems something about John’s plight had touched a nerve with the public.  Maybe citizens were identifying with John’s situation because, if the Towers had their way, many more people could soon find themselves in his shoes, helpless to determine their own fate or path in life, all because of a genetic anomaly. 

Since it was a Friday evening, the area he was heading toward was full of people attending nightclubs and restaurants featuring live music. The streets and pavements would be heavily congested with vehicles and people coming into the area for an entertaining night out. It would be loud, smelly and visually confusing for a sentinel, so that’s exactly where John wanted to be.  John’s speed slowed as he began to encounter the crowds in the streets and he finally had to drop down to a fast walk, weaving in and out of the people strolling along and congregating in queues to enter the clubs.  John heard some commotion behind him and glanced back over his shoulder to see a tall, well built man pushing through the crowd, moving at a fast jog.  The people he was pushing aside were reacting with irritation but the man didn’t slow. 

Alarmed at how close the man was, John darted into a side alley between two of the clubs.  He skidded to the intersection of the main alley and dodged to his right where the back doors of one of the clubs were situated. Of course the doors were closed but John tucked himself between the wall and the extremely smelly rubbish bins stacked beside the doors. The bass beat of the music inside the building was so loud he could feel it pounding in his chest almost like a second heartbeat as he crouched amongst the rubbish, waiting for the sentinel to appear. He didn’t have long to wait.  The man was dressed in street clothes but was clearly a Protector. He had his tranquilliser gun out and, though he was covering his mouth and nose with a hand, looked alert. John wasn’t sure he had the strength to take him but he was going to have to do something because the sentinel was about to find him.

Just as the sentinel reached his hiding place, the back doors of the club slammed open, expelling a rowdy group of young people, all laughing and talking loudly.  The sentinel spun and aimed at them as soon as they appeared, causing the kids to shriek in fear.  They scattered in panic, causing pandemonium. John couldn’t have planned it better.

As the kids screamed and ran, distracting the sentinel, John took the opportunity to catch the doors before they closed and slipped inside the nightclub. John was hit by a blast of sound that was almost physical as soon as he walked into the club. Casually, he made his way though the gyrating crowd as quickly and smoothly as possible. With each passing moment, the pain in his head increased with the thumping bass blasting the dance floor. Passing some unattended tables, he nicked an umbrella that had been hooked over the back of a chair. 

Relief at leaving the club washed over him as he stepped out onto the pavement in front of the building. He removed his cap, opened the umbrella and blended in with all the other foot traffic in the area, keeping his head low and umbrella high. 

He felt exposed and nervous as he walked quickly along the street and away from the club.  The traffic was fairly congested but he spotted a cab that had just left off a passenger and he grabbed it before anyone else could do so. Folding his umbrella and sinking low in his seat, he gave the address as the cabbie pulled off. He risked a look behind himself but thankfully saw nothing.

Closing his eyes, he leaned his head against the back of the seat and heaved a weary sigh of relief.  He’d managed to get away again and done it in a way he still didn’t fully understand. But he’d not got his suppressants, either.  The only other ones he had left were at the flat. Maybe he could call Mrs Hudson and she could arrange to drop them off somewhere. 

Wearily, he climbed the stairs to his hotel room and sat down on the bed.  He took a few minutes to examine the handcuff. Some were different from others and he wanted to make sure it wasn’t the double locked kind. It turned out to be a simple cuff that could be unlocked with a paperclip if one knew how it was done.  Choosing a key from his belt, he quickly unlocked the cuff and threw it on the nightstand.

Checking the time, he decided it wasn’t too late to ring Mrs Hudson. It was hard to believe everything that had happened had only taken about two hours.  

“Hello?” 

John smiled at hearing her voice. ”Mrs Hudson, hello. It’s John. Is this a good….”

”John?” she interrupted. “Are you all right, dear? I’ve been trying to ring you all day. These awful men from the Tower were here right after you left for work and turned your flat upside down. I’ve tried to straighten things up a bit but they left a mess. I couldn’t stop them!”

”Mrs Hudson! It’s all right. I’m so sorry you had to go through that.  I’m fine. I’m so sorry but I need something that was in a drawer in my bedside table. It was in a compartment in the back….”

“They dumped everything out onto the floor. What do you need me to look for?”

”It’s a small bottle from the chemists’ down the street.  Did you see anything like that on the floor?”

”I picked everything up and I’m sure I would have remembered pills, luv. There was nothing like that in there or on the floor. I checked under the bed, too but they must have taken the bottle with them. They took a few things but I didn’t see what exactly.”  She sounded very upset.

 _Dammit._ The Tower searchers must have found the suppressants first thing, which would explain why they were being so aggressive. It also explained how they nearly captured him at the chemists’. 

 “I’m so sorry they put you through that, Mrs Hudson. I had no idea.”

” I felt so helpless! What do they want with you, dear? What are you going to do?” 

John considered what to tell her and decided on most of the truth. “The Tower wants me because I’m a guide, Mrs Hudson. I hid myself, just like a lot of people, because I didn’t want to be a guide.”

“You poor dear! What a thing to have to constantly worry about. Is there anything I can do for you?”

”Thank you, Mrs Hudson. I appreciate all you have done and I’m so sorry to have brought all this trouble to your house.”    He paused, trying to choose his words carefully. 

“Before Sherlock left, we agreed to talk about the possibility of bonding, despite the fact his family would object. But he has since agreed to try and so I’m waiting for him to come home. But until he gets home tomorrow, I have to stay out of sight. Once I’ve bonded to Sherlock, they’ll not have any claim on me. "

”I just knew there was something special between you two. I could tell from the moment I met you and I’m so glad you have finally decided to do something about it. I’m awfully happy for you.” Her tone was fond and very affectionate.

“Thank you, Mrs Hudson.  I’m rather pleased about it, too, but until it happens, please don’t mention this to anyone, especially Mycroft.”

“Don’t worry, dear. I’d never say a thing to that man. He’s just awful to Sherlock and his whole family is just like him.  The last time Sherlock went off to visit his family, that poor boy came back in such an awful mood! It was like they’d poisoned him or something!”

John remembered that week and the aftermath.  He and Sherlock had phoned and texted constantly back and forth that week. If they hadn’t, Sherlock’s mood would probably have been much worse than it was. John had tried to keep things upbeat and make his friend laugh whenever possible but it had been a rough week afterward.

“Thanks, Mrs Hudson.  Sherlock should be back tomorrow evening. He said he had a flight out first thing. So I’m hoping we’ll both be home soon.”

“That’s wonderful news, John. Please be careful and let me know if there’s anything I can do for you in the meantime.”

“You’re doing a lot just by being such a good friend, Mrs Hudson. Thank you for understanding. I’ll be in touch.”  After a few more words, he put down his mobile and sighed.  He could think of only one other way to get some more hormone suppressants. John would call his doctor tomorrow and see if she would be willing to issue him a prescription under a different name.

His head still ached abominably so he took some paracetemol and stretched out on the bed to try to relax.  There was too much to think about and his thoughts swarmed round and round.

What had he done to the guides and sentinels back at the chemists? Could he learn to direct it consciously?   How had they done what they’d done to him? What the other guides had done didn’t seem to hurt them, but it had exhausted them within a short period of time.  

Whatever it was he’d done, it was effective too but his brain now felt like someone had used a cheese grater on it. His head didn’t hurt as much as it had earlier, but he was very sure he should not try that again soon, if he could even figure out how to do it again. Maybe Forrester could explain it to him but it was too late to ring her.

Should he ring Sherlock and tell him about this situation with the Tower?  It was a lot to put on him and while it might make John feel better to confide in his soon to be bond mate, there was nothing he could do at the moment and the knowledge could possibly cause Sherlock some emotional upset, which could, in turn, cause him to zone. Also, with alphas, lots of things could upset them but John was pretty sure danger to one’s future bond mate was high on the list. So that was a no.

Summing up, he now knew that it was likely Mycroft who had arranged for the order of custody to be issued and had given the Tower personal information about him they’d used to track him.  In addition, the Tower had proof that he was not only a guide strength empath but also an omega.  They were not going to stop searching until they found him and might actually call a Hunt. But once he and Sherlock bonded, the Tower couldn’t touch him and though things would change between the two of them, they’d be together.  And Sherlock’s family could sod off if they didn’t like it. The other complication he’d not had time to consider yet was the fact that, unless he could get in touch with his doctor, he was going to go into heat within a week or so. It was something that he dreaded and really didn’t want to think about, but he was forced to at this point. _When it rains, it pours_ , he thought wryly.

Trying to remember what it was like to go through heat was difficult.  After all, it had been half his lifetime since he’d experienced it. The whole thing had been a miserable blur.  All he could remember was feeling extremely uncomfortable, disoriented and wanting something badly but not knowing what it might be.

Thankfully his first heat had happened over a summer break from school when he was sixteen.  John’s father had been away on business and his sister had been staying with friends in London that week so his mother was able to lock him away in his room while he endured the heat. Once it was over, she had taken him straight away to a discreet omega specialist. 

Omega reforms in the 1970’s had made both hormone suppressants easily accessible and discrimination against omegas illegal in terms of jobs or admittance to university. However, there was still considerable prejudice by society at large against omegas taking certain jobs that required strenuous physical activity or long years of training.  They were discouraged and often outright forbidden by their families to pursue a career or university degree.  

A number of John’s classmates had presented as omegas and, under pressure from parents, immediately dropped out of school. Most were bonded and pregnant within a year of presentation, often to much older alphas.  That kind of life would have been a fate worse than death for John.

Thankfully John’s mother knew how he felt and completely supported his decision to let him live his life as he chose. She wasn’t going to let John’s gender interfere with his dreams of becoming a military doctor like his father, so Mrs Watson had John put on hormone suppressants immediately after his first heat and officially declared a beta.

Officially listing him as a beta was illegal but John hadn’t cared. And with the reforms, it was surprisingly easy to get suppressants. Once he was a doctor, it was even easier and he’d never been without them since, even in Afghanistan. 

Sitting up with a groan, John decided he was too tired to figure anything out that night. It was best that he prepare for bed and get some rest. If all went well tomorrow, he and Sherlock would be bonded. The thought of that brought a stab of excitement followed by anxiety. 

To be perfectly honest, John didn’t really know what to expect from bonding or exactly how to go about it all. The only training he’d ever got was from his former commanding officer’s guide, Forrester.  And she’d never had much Tower training herself, but she’d passed along everything she knew in the year and a half they’d worked together.  The doctor decided he’d just have to trust on instinct and Sherlock.

Cleaning up took the rest of his energy and he finally collapsed into bed. All his thoughts continued to spin but gradually they calmed as John dropped off to sleep.

He dreamed of running endlessly through the streets and over the rooftops with Sherlock, chasing criminals, laughing and giggling together like schoolboys. It was exhilarating and a little bit frightening and he absolutely loved it. He loved Sherlock with everything that he was and knew he was loved deeply in return.  This was what he wanted his life to be and to never change. 

But, as in the way of dreams, things did change.  The shadows became darker and the streets narrowed to become the hallways of a hospital.  He knew he was searching for something but couldn’t remember who or what.  The hospital seemed decent and well-kept at first, but as he moved further into the building and down, the paint on the walls became dirty and flaking.  The windows were broken with rusted casements and the fluorescent lights flickered and buzzed, making his eyes hurt.  Every room he searched was empty of everything except for long-legged insects scuttling across the floors.

Terrified, John knew he was alone. Running faster and faster, he called for Sherlock, feeling more and more desperate and frightened. There was no reply and his voice echoed unpleasantly through the empty rooms as he staggered on, searching.    

When he thought he could run no more, the landscape changed again and he was in the desert. It was night and he was trying to labour through blood soaked sand.  It became harder and harder to struggle because with every step he sank deeper and deeper into the bloody sand.  Terror turned into horror as he realised body parts were mixed in with the sand.  He had to push them away to get through and they seemed to move and drag at him as he passed.  Gritting his teeth, he kept moving forward.  It was his only choice because he was a soldier and quitting would never be an option.

Ahead he saw a figure lying on the sand and somehow knew it was Sherlock. He slogged forward as fast as the clinging sand would allow until the ground solidified. Falling to his knees, hands shaking with fear, he turned over the body. He sobbed with relief to see it wasn’t the detective. Standing on weak legs, he pushed forward and into a blue forest. 

Searching for and finding Sherlock was his goal. Again he was running, this time with four legs.  Terror and horror were gone, replaced with excitement and hope. Somehow, he knew he would find his mate here.  

Sounds in the blue forest were muted, as were the damp, earthy scents.  But as he ran, he listened and finally heard the cry of a raptor overhead. He threw his head back and howled his joy at sighting his mate. Running faster through the undergrowth, he found the path to the clearing. He’d been here before and rejoiced in the familiarity of nearly being home.

As before, the black eagle with the pale grey-green eyes was in the centre of the clearing, bright yellow beak open and wings spread wide. John took in the magnificent sight for a moment and then his heart leaped in his chest as the eagle morphed into the tall, dark haired, gorgeous genius who belonged to him and no one else.   

Walking on two feet now instead of four, John moved directly into the long arms that were still open wide for him. They enfolded him with love and safety and he, in turn, wrapped his own arms tightly around his mate. He pressed his face against Sherlock’s neck and tried to convey by his body alone how lonely he’d been and how much he’d missed his mate. 

Sinking slowly to the ground, John barely noticed that somehow they were now both naked.  They pressed themselves together, writhing, kissing and touching as much skin as they could reach. Sherlock rubbed his face against the side of John’s neck and kissed under his chin, causing John to throw his head back in excitement. Sherlock gnawed and licked at his throat and something about that was important but John didn’t know exactly what.

Groaning loudly, John urged Sherlock to bite him.  Lightening replaced his nerve endings and all he could hear was his heart thundering as he cried out loudly in ecstasy at the sharp nip of teeth.  Sherlock growled deep in his throat and John was suddenly on his back, legs over his mate’s shoulders.

Looking deeply into Sherlock’s eyes, John instinctively claimed ownership of his sentinel. The words seemed ritualistic and came from somewhere deep inside him. “I am yours and you are mine, in this life and the next. There will never be another. Take what is yours, sentinel!”

Sherlock’s reply was very direct. Growling “Mine!” the alpha sentinel positioned himself and entered John with a savage thrust. In the way of dreams, John was painlessly filled by his sentinel. The feeling of being entered was amazing and odd in a way John had never experienced. Because he was a virgin to this act, John wasn’t sure if Sherlock was penetrating him anally or vaginally. It didn’t matter, though, because the pleasure became incredible and unbelievable and transcendent within moments as his mind and Sherlock’s joined to become one. The wonder and incredulity were indescribable as John’s lover/sentinel/alpha took him over and over until he was filled completely with Sherlock’s seed and he was coming as well.    Heart pounding, sweating and twisted up in his sheets, John woke abruptly and sat up fast, breathing hard.  The dream had been incredibly intense and it felt as if he’d actually experienced it. He certainly had evidence that his body thought it was real.  

Reaching up to his throat, he rubbed under his chin. There were slight swellings there and the area felt hot, a bit sore and tingled strangely. This was exactly where he’d urged Sherlock to bite in his dream and must have something to do with bonding, he was sure.

Damning his ignorance once again, he was determined to do some research on guides right away. John needed to think about what the dream meant, but in the meantime, he had a bit of a mess to clean up.

Before Sherlock, he’d never thought he’d ever need to know about details like this. Bonding with a sentinel had never even crossed his mind except as something to avoid.  But meeting and living with Sherlock had changed his mind.  The thought of now living without him was inconceivable.   

Crawling out of bed, his knees a bit shaky, the doctor made it to the shower. Feeling much better and rather sated, he towelled off and collapsed on the bed again. It was still a bit early to call his doctor, so he ordered breakfast. A newspaper came with the food but he wasn’t sure he wanted to see if his adventures of the previous day were mentioned.  He made himself browse through the articles anyway.  There was a short piece about the Tower’s antics but nothing specific, like his name, thankfully. A mention was made of a possible press conference later in the day but the time was to be announced.

He took a moment to prepare a text to Sherlock, knowing he’d be asleep at the moment, but he wanted to connect with him in some manner. The dream had been weird and unsettling but strangely more real than any dream he’d ever experienced.  Were his instincts showing him what to expect when he bonded with Sherlock?  Did Sherlock experience a similar dream?  Could they have actually joined together in the spirit world in the way they would in the real world?   He really didn’t have any answers to that. Again, another reason to do some research, if possible.

He and Sherlock had not yet talked about what had happened when he’d guided the sentinel detective through the blue forest and out of that dangerously deep zone.  John worried that the reason for it might be the Holmes family putting too much pressure on Sherlock to bond with an omega of their choice.  Emotional upsets could easily cause the strongest, most balanced sentinel to zone and dealing with his family always caused Sherlock quite a lot of emotional upset. Maybe that was why he’d said nothing to John about it, not wanting John to get angry on his behalf.

On top of Sherlock’s family putting stress on him, now John was doing the same by asking him to bond against his family’s specific wishes.  For a few moments John felt guilty, but then reminded himself that Sherlock was a grown man and he was very capable of voicing his opinions about pretty much everything. 

However, this wasn’t about opinions; it was about emotions and family pressure. Strained was a polite word for Sherlock’s relationship with his family. And Sherlock admitted that he didn’t do emotions and that he relied on John for that. John sighed. He’d have to trust that Sherlock was telling him the truth about how he felt. The dream helped him believe that his soon-to-be bond mate was serious about his commitment to try. John sent the text and hoped he’d get an answer when Sherlock woke.

**_Did you dream of the forest tonight?_ **

                                                ___________________

It was time to get dressed and prepare for the day.  Thankfully his doctor had morning hours on Saturdays, so he dialled and got the receptionist right away.  His hopes were dashed when he was told his doctor was on holiday for a fortnight but he could meet with another doctor in the practise.  John thanked her and hung up, heart sinking in dread. _Damn._   Now there was no way to get any suppressants. He was out of options unless he wanted to break into a chemist shop.   For a few moments he actually considered it. But he wasn’t a thief.  He would just have to explain to Sherlock and find a place to hole up for a few days. 

There were some hotels that had “omega rooms” where one could stay during heat. They tended to be rather expensive, though, and he didn’t have much money at the moment.  Sherlock might be able to help financially, but that could be rather awkward. 

John was sure he wasn’t ready to be bred, but he might not have a choice about it.  Hormones tended to lower one’s IQ quite a bit and if he was around Sherlock when he went into heat, the doctor doubted he would even try to control himself.  The more important question here was _Sherlock_ ready for something like this? Would he reject John on discovering he was an omega or would the knowledge make the doctor more desirable?  He hoped it was the latter but with Sherlock, you never knew for sure. There was still time. Sherlock would be home sometime late that evening and he wouldn’t go into heat for at least four or five more days. Hopefully.  He wasn’t really sure, to be honest but that was average time after stopping hormone suppressants. It differed with each omega, of course. 

Rubbing absently at his throat, John noticed that the swelling was going down somewhat and wasn’t as irritated as before, thankfully.  Absently, he decided to switch on the telly as he dressed. The BBC1 news at noon was just coming on.

“…repeating our top story, London Sentinel Tower will be calling a press conference in a few minutes.  Our colleague Ron Stevens is on site and will report to you live. Ron?”

The shot of the commentator in the studio was replaced by a handsome young man standing outside on the pavement. “Thank you, Gene. We’re here at the front of the London Sentinel Tower.” The camera panned back to reveal the façade of a large, imposing and intimidating medieval edifice, built with rough hewn, heavily rusticated dark grey stone. A chill went down John’s spine at the sight of it.

The reporter continued, “In a few moments, Alpha Prime Sentinel of London Colin Fitzhugh will give a statement concerning these unusual confrontations that Tower personnel seem to be having all over the city with one unidentified individual. 

“There was an apparent third encounter last night outside a local chemists’ shop on Marylebone High Street at approximately 8 pm.  Again, we have some footage from eyewitnesses on the scene. The only video we were able to obtain began approximately thirty seconds to a minute after the actual incident began.”

John inhaled sharply as the screen switched to another poor quality video of him as he was slammed into the window with an audible thump and fell to the ground.  The camera jiggled and shook as the crowd surged forward. He noted with interest that the yells and taunts thrown out by the witnesses were all aimed at the sentinels.

He watched himself surge to his feet with a rather ferocious expression on his face. Then his hands flew up to his head and he clutched at his temples and staggered with an expression of great pain. It was apparent that John was barely conscious and didn’t notice when the sentinel crept up on him, cuffed his left wrist and was punched out for his trouble.  The camera jumped a bit as the mob cheered.

What happened next had the crowd stepping backward with some crying out in surprise and fear.  With a weird feeling of disconnection John watched as the guides and sentinels dropped unconscious without apparent cause.  The camera was jostled violently again and when it steadied, John was running away into the crowd.

The handsome reporter was back. “No one seems to know for certain exactly what happened in front of the chemists but some eyewitnesses who are empaths reported picking up on a psychic backlash of extremely strong, focussed use of guide empathy.

“What some are concluding is that the event we witnessed was some kind of empathic duel between our unidentified man and three bonded guides. 

“It is very apparent that this person is desperately wanted by the Tower for reasons that are currently unknown. Again, some are suggesting that the reasons he is wanted might be related to the fact that he seems to be an extremely powerful empath of unprecedented strength.  We are hoping the statement made by the Sentinel Alpha Prime will clarify matters for us.

“Our viewers should know that this is a very unusual event in that the leader of the London sentinel community is giving the statement rather than their public relations department.”  The camera moved from the reporter to the group of journalists ready with their cameras and recorders.  “Gene, the press conference is about to begin.  We’ll switch now to the stage.”

The view on the screen was now an empty podium set up in front of the heavily carved dark doors of the Tower.  John watched with a rather horrified fascination as a tall, fit and handsome grey haired man approached the microphones.  He looked out over the reporters present with a very hard and stern expression.  Despite his forbidding appearance, John was strangely spellbound and not a little bit attracted to the man. 

John had only met a few sentinels in his life. His old commander Henderson was the first he’d ever met and he was bonded to Forrester. John remembered feeling an attraction to him but it wasn’t very strong.  However, when he’d first met Sherlock, the attraction had been immediate and so magnetic in its strength he’d had to slam down his shields to keep from reaching out with his empathy. 

His blood froze for a moment. Was his attraction and love for Sherlock something only to do with sentinel/guide dynamics?  Did he only want to bond with Sherlock because he was the only unbonded sentinel he’d ever met?  No. No, he loved Sherlock for who he was—if there was some kind of genetic thing involved, it was only part of the picture.  Plus he had never felt any attraction to Mycroft, who was also a sentinel. _Ugh_. Shuddering at the horrible thought of being bonded to Mycroft, John turned his attention back to the telly.  Fitzhugh had begun reading from a prepared statement.

“…thank you for coming. As many of you know, since yesterday morning, Tower Protectors and sentinels have been in pursuit of a rogue guide. A custody warrant was issued for this rogue and when he was approached by lawful representatives of the Tower, he assaulted the men and fled.  Two other unsuccessful attempts have been made since then to capture him.”  Fitzhugh’s expression was rather sour at having to admit the fact his Protectors had failed.   

“It is imperative that this man be captured safely and we will do so. I am here today to announce to the city of London that the Tower is organising an official Hunt to find and bring this rogue into the Tower for bonding.”  John’s heart sank at the news, but he hadn’t expected anything else. 

“We are **not** requesting help from the public in accomplishing this goal. I only ask that the public not interfere with our Hunt or with the Protectors in their legal pursuit of this person.  Thank you for your time.”

Fitzhugh began to step away when a reporter shouted a question. “Who is this guide you’re chasing?”

“I will not identify this rogue to protect his family.  I do want the public to know that we consider him exceptionally dangerous. So far he has not seriously injured anyone but, as you can see from the videos, he is extremely capable of maiming or killing with only his bare hands.  We urge anyone who thinks they might have seen him to report his whereabouts to the Tower or the nearest Protector immediately.  Do not, by any means, attempt to subdue him on your own.”

Another reporter shouted loudly at Fitzhugh. “There is a rumour going around that the man is not only a strong guide, but an omega guide. If he is an omega guide, it certainly puts paid to the Tower’s claim that omega guides are weak minded, unable to protect themselves and only good for breeding! This has been the Tower’s justification for imprisoning omega guides for centuries!  What do you say to that, Mr Alpha Prime? And what do you say to the hideous attempts of the Tower to roll back omega and guide rights?”  The man’s tone was very confrontational and, when the camera focused on him, John realised the man must be a member of an omega rights group.

As the camera returned to the podium, John decided that Fitzhugh was a lousy choice for a spokesperson.  Flushed and visibly angry, the sentinel replied harshly to the reporter. “I will not comment on that. This is not a political venue to discuss such…..” Fitzhugh was interrupted by the jeering tone of the omega activist.

“Your Tower spreads outrageous lies about the way you treat guides and omegas so it’s no wonder you can’t attract guide strength empaths! Now you’re going to try to get the government to do your dirty work and tear people from their homes and families, all so you can have your own personal bonded slaves!”

John could see security moving in to surround the shouting journalist/activist. The camera swung back to the Alpha Prime, who was red with anger. He was shouting, “I’ll not have this kind of talk here in front of my Tower! We treat all our guides well!”  The omega was pulled away by security. The man shook off their hands and walked away angrily but with dignity.

Another reporter spoke up. “If it’s true you care for omega guides so well, why haven’t you had an omega guide in the Tower for at least a decade? We all know that traditionally you keep omega guides more or less imprisoned and don’t allow them out of the Tower until they can no longer breed. 

“If this man you’re chasing is an omega guide, can anyone blame him for fighting to stay free?”  Other voices in the crowd of journalists agreed and the attention was directed back at Fitzhugh.  He’d managed to rein in his anger and spoke with clenched teeth, expression daunting and intimidating.

“This press conference is over. I have only one more thing to say to all of you. Stay out of our way while we apprehend this rogue or someone will get hurt.” He then turned and stalked out of camera range.

Rob Stevens’ cheerful smile replaced the empty podium on the screen. “Well, Gene, that was quite an interesting experience. I don’t believe I’ve ever seen the like.  I’ll leave it to you and the experts you’ve got in the studio with you to analyse today’s events.” 

John shut off the telly and sank back on the bed. Well, he really shouldn’t have been surprised at all by these developments. It wasn’t like he hadn’t expected it. They knew he was indeed an omega guide and if they succeeded in capturing him, it would be quite a feather in their caps. 

John seriously needed to do some research. Thankfully, the phone Forrester had given him could access the internet.  He set to work with a will.

He learned a few new things in the following hours. Traditionally, Hunts did not allow unbonded sentinels to participate, which was a relief to know. In the heat of the chase, the unbonded could not be counted on to control themselves.  The last thing the Tower authorities wanted was an unsanctioned bonding of an omega guide before they could hold their Tournament, which was for unbondeds only.  The winner of the Tournament bonded with the omega guide. It never mattered what the guide wanted.

Also, there was always the chance an unbonded could zone dangerously or go into a bonding frenzy and hurt a guide.  This was common knowledge, though the Towers tried to suppress and downplay the possibilities. It was why they wanted to control all pairings and make sure the bonding took place in a safe environment. John reluctantly admitted that there were some good reasons for a few of their traditions. 

John rubbed his tired eyes and sat back in his chair.  He’d also found an astonishing amount of bonding porn that was mostly speculation. John tried not to be shocked by it; he was a doctor after all, but the imaginations some of these people had were rather repellent.  He felt like he wanted to wash his brain with bleach after reading some of that stuff.

However, there had been a couple of sites that seemed to provide information that felt true to him. Maybe he should ring Forrester. He wasn’t sure exactly where she was at the moment, but he didn’t think she’d mind. He really should have rung her earlier but he’d been a bit distracted.

Dialling the number he’d memorised from the note he’d been given at the gym, John waited for the call to be routed by whatever means and then for Forrester to pick up.  When she finally did, John found himself nostalgic at hearing her voice for the first time in almost six months.

“Doc! How are you?  Have you pinned down your pretty sentinel yet?” John could hear the laughter in her voice and chuckled.

”Not yet, Starr. But maybe very soon.  That’s kind of why I’m calling.”

“You’re finally asking for advice? I’ve been expecting you to call about this for six months at least, Doc.” ”You have?  I didn’t really think of it until recently, to be honest. Bonding with a sentinel has never been something on my bucket list, as you know.”  Forrester laughed at him.

”Until you met your gorgeous alpha, am I right? Last time we talked, it was Sherlock this and Sherlock that. I pulled up a photo of him from your blog and wow, what a looker, Doc,” she teased.

Good naturedly, he laughed back. “I know! It’s so hard to believe he wants anything to do with plain old me! Not only is he good looking but his family is titled and very wealthy. Unfortunately, his family has forbidden him to bond with me,” he finished wryly.

“Well, from what you’ve told me about him, their disapproval is only going to guarantee that he’ll bond with you.”  Her tone was fond and indulgent but it became serious. 

“Listen, Doc. I’ve been worried about you over there in the UK with this vote coming up. I just want you to know you’re welcome to join us anytime. Just in case things don’t go your way.  I hate to be pessimistic, but life has a tendency to throw a spanner into the works when you least expect it.”

“Thanks, Starr. You and Ben are incredibly generous.  If things don’t work out and these damn laws pass, I’ll be sure to give you a ring.  Now, I need to ask you some things that might be difficult to talk about, but I don’t know exactly what’s involved with bonding, especially being a guide. You’ve been through it and I hope you’ll be willing to share what you know.”

”John, you know I’ll tell you anything you want. You’ve saved my life and Ben’s so many times over it’s ridiculous. One word of warning, don’t read the omega guide porn on the internet.”  John groaned and she laughed again. “I see my warning is much too late. Okay then, what do you want to know?”

They talked for almost an hour before Forrester was called away and they had to disconnect.  John lay back on his bed and thought about what he’d learnt from his discussion with Starr. It had been so nice to talk with another guide he could trust. John had remembered to ask her about the Tower guides’ aggressive use of empathy to destroy his shields and what he’d done in retaliation but she wasn’t familiar with that mode of attack. She mostly used her empathy for scouting and concealment, which she had passed on to him, as well.

He’d told her about the Hunt and she’d been ready to come in with guns blazing to get him out of the country if that’s what he’d wanted.  But John had dissuaded her by letting her know that Sherlock was expected back in town within the next eight hours or so and things would be okay. She reluctantly accepted his explanation and spent the rest of their time on the phone telling him what he could expect of the bonding process and how best to go about it. 

What it all came down to was he was to trust his instincts and follow his heart. She’d also included some very specific details that pretty much matched what had occurred in his dream the previous night.  He was as ready to do this bonding thing as he’d ever be, apparently.  Relieved, he began to drift off, lovely images of himself with Sherlock floating through his mind when he was awakened by the sound of an incoming text.  Surprised, it turned out to be Sherlock.

 _Caught a very early flight and am now home. Where are you?  
_ _SH_

Excited and relieved that all the crazy that was currently his life was soon to be over, he eagerly texted back.

 _Welcome home! Am still at hotel. Have some things to tell you. Didn’t want you to worry you, but the Tower has issued a warrant of custody on me. Am hiding out.  
_ _JW_

The reply came quickly.

 _I know. Mrs H told me. We will talk about why **you** did not. Meet me at the Starbucks on _ _Baker Street_ _, half six  
__SH_

 _Which one? There are 2. And you hate Starbucks. You always say their coffee tastes like burnt toenails. I don’t want to know how you know that.  
_ _JW_

 _Also_ _Baker St_ _is being watched.  
__JW_

 _Whatever.  The Wallace at_ _Manchester Square_ _, half six.  
__SH_

 _Whatever? Since when…never mind. That location isn’t much better. And it’s a bit grand for me. Why don’t we meet at your favourite place?  
_ _JW_

There was a bit of a pause. John was rather confused by this strange correspondence but he was too excited to worry about it too much.  _Sherlock was home!_ He couldn’t wait any longer. He sent off his suggestion.

 _Let’s just meet at the Espresso Room.  
_ _JW_

 _Fine.  I’ll see you soon, then.  
_ _SH_

Elated but a bit put off by the formality of the texts, John checked the time. He had a bit over an hour to get to the café and dithered a bit about how best to get there. Finally deciding to take a cab, he packed everything he’d brought, threw the bag over his shoulders so it rode on his back and checked the room thoroughly before he checked out and hailed a cab.

Worry clawed at the back of his mind as they progressed slowly through the Saturday evening traffic. The tone of the texts was so terse. Was Sherlock angry with him? Had he changed his mind? John continued to fret as they drove.   He was in sight of the coffee shop when the cab slowed to a stop. John leaned forward and addressed the driver.  

“What’s going on? Why are we stopping?” He tried to peer ahead through the windscreen, but didn’t see anything but congested traffic.

The driver shrugged and grunted. “Traffic.”

John didn’t care. Impatient to see Sherlock, he decided to get out and walk the remaining distance, even though it had started to rain again. He still had the nicked umbrella after all.    Paying the driver, he slipped out of the taxi, opened his umbrella and began to walk toward Great Ormond Street, light on his feet and excited to see Sherlock again.  He promised himself he would try to stay calm and not emote all over his flatmate until they could negotiate what was to happen next.  Sherlock hated emotional displays with a passion.

Excited and almost giddy with anticipation, John playfully decided to send out a tendril of empathy to see if he could locate Sherlock amongst all the other people on the street.  During the day, his head had stopped hurting when he used his empathy and he thought it would be good to test how well it was working.

To his absolute horror, he encountered multiple indications of extreme danger. Pulling back, he bolstered his shields with everything he had. His heart began to race as adrenaline thundered through his veins. Calmly and casually, he worked his way around the other pedestrians and ducked into a small alleyway about a street from the shop. 

He leaned against the brick wall beside the rubbish bins and closed his eyes, taking a steadying breath. He then slowly and carefully swept the area for specific information, just as Forrester had taught him how to do in enemy territory.

From what he could determine, he was completely enclosed by danger.  Sentinels had completely surrounded the area.  Had they followed Sherlock? But that was impossible! Sherlock was the master of detecting and losing a tail. Everything John knew about the subject, he’d learnt from Sherlock!  Chaos, grief and anguish swirled in his mind, trying to prevent John from accepting the only logical answer.  Sherlock had betrayed him. Had lured him to this place and was working with the Tower to capture him. 

John felt numb.  Sherlock didn’t want him and he never had.  But he’d felt Sherlock’s emotions—or had he? Sherlock was always good at letting you see only what he wanted you to see.  

 _But the dream?_   His fading hopes insisted on being heard, if only faintly.  _The dream was only a wish-fulfilment_ , the cynical part of his mind replied. 

 _Christ in heaven_ , John prayed to a god that didn’t seem to exist for him. _It just can’t be true!_ _I won’t believe it._ _Not Sherlock!_  Just then he spotted a sentinel across the street, looking right at him and speaking into his radio. His whole world shattered and the only logical answer hit him between the eyes. Sherlock _had_ betrayed him. The Hunt was now on and Dr John Watson was the prey. 

Slipping further back into the darkness of the alley, John searched the walls of the surrounding buildings. He wasn’t as familiar with this part of town as he was with the Hyde Park area but he’d been through here with Sherlock before. Dredging his reluctant memory, he recalled that these roof tops would get him out of the perimeter of the Protectors fairly quickly. If he could get to the roof without being seen first he could probably get away.  He would deal with other things when he got to safety. He had no time for grief. Right now he had to move.

Thankfully the sentinel across the street was staying put, probably afraid to approach him without back-up.  John smirked spitefully. That one was smarter than any of the others.  There would be no quarter asked or given in this fight with the Tower and losing wasn’t an option.

Dropping the umbrella into a bin, he climbed to the top of one of the larger skips. From there he used the rough brick of the building to pull himself up to a second storey window and then up and over onto the rooftop.  He’d always been one of the best of his team in abseiling and rock climbing. Henderson had said he could climb like a monkey because he was so damn short and that was probably true. He was going to use it to his advantage now.

The roof was slightly sloped and wet, but his boots had excellent traction.  The building connected to another that was two more storeys in height. The drainpipe was in good nick so he was able to use it to reach the roof.  He continued on for about another street, though it was slow work, until he reached an area where the buildings ended in a street too wide to jump. 

Checking again for danger, he did a sweep of the area.  The concentration of danger was behind him, surrounding the alley he’d fled. He’d not been seen climbing the building or traversing the roof tops yet.  There was danger ahead of him, however. He’d used his empathy to locate enemies in Afghanistan when his team needed to infiltrate caves in the mountains but there were fewer people about there. Surprisingly, he was finding it much easier to differentiate between civilians and Protectors now. Apparently it was true that practice made perfect.

From where he was crouched on the roof, he could see a plainclothes sentinel patrolling the street. It seemed he was the only one in this immediate area. They would figure out where he’d gone soon enough, though.  Going to the back of the building and keeping an eye on the sentinel, he climbed down once the man was out of sight.  There was considerable traffic, so he doubted the man could hear the sounds of someone crawling down a brick wall.

Reaching the ground and stepping to the edge of the alleyway, he peered around the corner to see where the sentinel had gone. The man had disappeared, so John sauntered out of the alley, crossed the street and headed in the opposite direction.

Blending in with all the other pedestrians, John kept an eye out for anyone who looked like a Protector.  They did tend to stand out in a crowd, being taller and more muscular than most of the population.  Periodically, he’d sweep the area to look for threats. 

The rain had turned into a mist as night fell completely and the temperature started to dip.  John kept walking, head down, hands in his pockets, changing direction often and using the alleyways as much as possible.  He let his feet take him where they would because he was becoming too numb to care which way he went.  The feelings of grief and agony at Sherlock’s betrayal were beginning to overcome his attempts to suppress them now that immediate danger seemed to have passed. 

It was important that he not allow himself to drown in his despair.  There would be time for that later. Right now he needed to find a safe place to go and then contact Starr. He would ask her for extraction and he knew she would come as soon as she and Ben could manage. As he reached the end of an alley, he realised he’d failed and allowed himself to be overtaken by his unhappiness. He’d not been checking his environment carefully enough because there were two Protectors at the mouth of the alley waiting for him. He’d not sensed them at all because of his distraction.

Turning immediately, he ran the opposite way. They shouted but he ignored them and tore through the alley and onto the street, causing cars to brake and slide on the wet road, horns honking angrily.  He didn’t care and kept running into the traffic, both sentinels hot on his heels.

He was a good runner but did better at long distance than sprinting. He’d have to wear these two out and then see if he could lose them. He sensed they were close and he veered to one side and vaulted over the bonnet of one of the cars, sliding over the wet metal and then into the path of a car coming the opposite direction.  He dodged that one and ran at full speed between the rows of cars. The drivers saw him coming and swerved and braked to avoid him, stopping traffic and blocking the lanes at odd angles.  He shot a glance over his shoulder and saw that he seemed to have lost one of the sentinels but the other was hanging grimly on. John gritted his teeth and put on more speed, cutting ruthlessly between cars, off the street and back onto the pavement. People watched in consternation and fell away from him as he pelted down the walk, running so fast the cars and people blurred.  Breathing through his nose and out through his mouth, he sprinted as fast and efficiently as he knew how, putting some distance between himself and the following sentinel.

Turning a corner so fast he nearly slipped, he headed for some older buildings that he knew had confusing alleyways and access to more rooftops.  Dashing into the mouth of an alley he began to weave in and around the bins and rats. The place smelled of weeks old rubbish and urine, but John hoped it would slow down his pursuer. 

He had a few more streets and alley ways to traverse before he found the building he wanted. Sprinting flat out toward the end of the alley, it became apparent that he wasn’t going to reach his destination when two more Hunters appeared right in front of him.  Breathing hard, John slid to a halt on the slimy cobblestones. _Where the hell were they all coming from?_ Going back wasn’t an option. He didn’t need to look behind him to know his initial pursuer was blocking his way out.  One of the sentinels must have been able to call for back-up while he was chasing John. 

 _There was no fucking way this was going to stop him._   Backing away from the men closest to him, the doctor moved toward the smelliest skip and braced his back against it, hands on his knees and breathing deeply.  He briefly considered trying the little trick with his empathy he’d managed earlier, but he wasn’t sure how he’d done it and he didn’t think they’d give him the time to figure it out. He was going to have to handle this situation physically and hope he could take them out before more back-up arrived. 

Feigning more exhaustion than he was feeling, he raised his hands a bit, still bent over and gasped out, “Okay, okay! I give up! Just don’t hurt me!”   He hoped his helpless act would lure the two nearest to him closer so he could dart them.  The gun had a limited effective distance and they were still too far away. 

John watched them approach through the drizzle and stood straight with his hands at his side. He continued to gasp and breathe loudly, clutching at his chest dramatically with one hand to cover the subtle movement of his other hand toward the dart gun at his waist. Both his targets were backlit but it wasn’t until they got a bit closer that he saw they were wearing body armour. _Shit shit shit._ That meant his shots had to be extremely accurate and in the throat, if possible.

John glanced at the third sentinel and saw he had something in his hands. _Christ, was that a net? Bloody hell!_ He looked back at the two on his left.

They had continued to approach him with caution and were almost in range. The larger of the two shouted nervously at him. “Move away from the skip and put your hands up where I can see them! Do it now!”  This bloke wasn’t used to being ignored.

John straightened wearily and waved vaguely with his right hand. “Fine, okay. Don’t get your knickers in a twist.”  He slowly moved forward and simultaneously snatched the gun from his belt, aiming for their throats.  Both darts hit spot on and John threw himself down as the net sailed over his head and wrapped tenaciously around the two he’d just darted, taking them down completely.

Rolling to his feet, John crouched on the balls of his feet, body balanced to move any direction as he faced down the third man. The sentinel was backing away. If John didn’t know better, he’d have thought the man was going to flee, but instead the sentinel pulled his dart gun and began firing wildly at the doctor.

In the back of his mind, John wondered who the hell had trained these idiots. But then a dart managed to crease his cheek despite raising his arms to protect his face. Only a small amount of the drug entered his system but it made his attack slower and gave the sentinel the time to block John’s strike.

The Protector swung at John with his empty dart pistol and the doctor barely managed to avoid being brained by a quick movement of his head to one side.  The weapon struck his left shoulder instead. Sheer agony shot through John’s entire left side as the Protector hit the wound in his shoulder with the gun by pure dumb luck. 

John sagged as the pain momentarily incapacitated him, but turned the fall into a blind lunge at the sentinel’s legs. His desperate leap brought them both down onto the wet, smelly cobblestones with a jarring thud.  John twisted and pressed the sentinels’ head into slimy rubbish. The man gagged but pulled away to swing at John again, who managed to barely avoid the blow by scrambling away and falling onto his back in the muck.

Dripping slime, the sentinel rose and threw himself at John, who rolled away, barely managing to regain his feet before another blow struck him in the face. The force of the punch knocked him hard into one of the skips, causing him to hit his head. The world went fuzzy and indistinct.  Sliding to the ground, nose and cheek bleeding, barely conscious, John tried to get up but the throbbing pain his left arm prevented it from supporting him.

_This is not happening. It won’t end here. I won’t let it._

The sentinel had other ideas. Picking up John like a rag doll, he threw him against the skip again, rattling his teeth with the force of the blow. Holding John up with one hand, the sentinel forced his head back and began to rub his face against the doctor’s throat. _What the fuck?_

John realised with horror that this sentinel was unbonded and was going to try to force a bond with him. Why the hell was an unbonded being given weapons and allowed a place in the Hunt?  Did the Tower sanction his participation? Or had he just taken the weapons and joined the Hunt without their knowledge? John tried to knee him in the bollocks but the man twisted aside. He flipped John around as if he weighed nothing and pushed him face first into the side of the skip.

John tried to reason with him. Raggedly he shouted, “Do you know how much trouble you’ll be in if you do this?”

It felt very strange trying to talk his way out of this and not at all confident he’d succeed. The man growled at him, sounding almost bestial and barely articulate. Was he going into a bonding frenzy? John’s alarm grew at the thought.

”Shut up! I’m going to take you, guide. I don’t care what the other alphas say, you’re going to be mine and I’ll fill you with my seed and you’ll have my babies until you’re worn out!”

The sentinel sounded demented and John’s mind reeled in shock.  The crudity of the man’s words horrified him and yet were strangely mesmerising. Was this the way alphas talked to their omegas?  And did they like that? How messed up was that? _Christ!_ The doctor had no more time to think as the sentinel tried to bite the back of his neck, but was frustrated by the throat piece of his protective garment.  The sentinel tugged at it stupidly for a moment, nearly strangling John.  It just took a second of inattention and John swung backward with all his strength into the man’s face with his right elbow, striking the cheekbone and ear with a sickening thud.

The sentinel reeled back and nearly went down. Breathing heavily, the unbonded snarled like a big cat and swung back around, shaking his head. Apparently John hadn’t hit the bastard hard enough and he’d recovered too quickly.  The doctor blocked a series of blows that would have seriously injured him if they’d connected. His left arm was less numb but still wasn’t working properly. His responses continued to be slow from the drug in his system but that was getting better as well.  Retreating against the flurry of blows, John slipped and fell to his knees.

The unbonded sentinel rushed him, breathing heavily. John threw himself to one side and managed evade a massive blow that could have killed him.  Pulling himself to his knees again, he wavered in front of the man, who sneered and taunted him. “You look good on your knees, omega. I’ll be sure to keep you that way. Now you will come with me or else.” He lunged toward John and reached out to grab his arm.

Gritting his teeth, tasting blood, John clenched his hands together and swung upward using all the strength left in his arms and torso. He managed to connect with the man’s knee and it gave with a sickening crunch.  The man shrieked in pain and fell hard onto the cobblestones, holding his ruined knee with both hands. 

Clutching at the skip, John managed to rise and limp stiffly over to the two unconscious sentinels wrapped in the strange netting.  The net seemed to have some kind of adhesive quality, like he’d expect a spider web to have. He’d never seen a weapon like it and idly wondered how the unbonded had acquired it, but he had no time to examine it at length. 

Cradling his arm to his side, he bent over to collect more darts and a new gun from the drugged Protectors. Loading the new pistol and pocketing some magazines, John tranquillised the injured sentinel. As a doctor he knew that the damage to the knee was not repairable and he took maybe a second to feel bad about it.

Wiping his dripping face with a gritty hand, he saw the blood for the first time. No help for it, he had to go.  He trotted past the two sentinels at the mouth of the alley and peered out around the corner.

He walked slowly out of cover without seeming to alert anyone. His mind was a bit fuzzy around the edges but would recover soon enough.  He wasn’t sure if the two Protectors he’d tranquillised had had the chance to call for help or not but he didn’t actually care at the moment. Something was wrong and he knew he needed to be more alert but he couldn’t force his eyes to open fully.

The fresh air began to revive him somewhat as he walked toward his destination, mind mostly blank.  The streets were a bit more populated and people were looking at him strangely as he passed them by.  He wiped at his face with a sleeve and saw more blood. Did he have a cut to his scalp? Those could bleed a lot.  He lost time for a minute and was startled when someone touched his arm and asked if he was okay.  The drug was clearing but it was still affecting him. Reassuring the kind Samaritan, he continued down the street. Just a few more houses and he could take to the roof tops again.  Pushing on, his head continued to clear and he thanked his lucky stars that there were no Hunters there to take advantage of his condition.  It wasn’t far now and he started a slow jog toward the street he wanted. 

Without any warning, a black saloon slewed around a corner and raced straight at him.  It skidded to a stop and disgorged two Protectors.  John reacted immediately, running flat out but his muscles weren’t working as well as they should and his left arm was still partly numb. Changing tactics, he swung behind a car and aimed at the two sentinels running toward him. He shot them both using the dart gun and resumed his flight.  The doctor wasn’t sure if he’d got them both as his aim wasn’t as good with his right hand.  However, the driver saw what happened and took off in pursuit of John with the car. 

John needed to cross the street to get to where he wanted to be but didn’t expect the car to head straight at him. At the same time the driver hadn’t expected John to dart out in front of him either, so collision was inevitable. 

John, realising what was about to happen,  had just enough time to jump upward and tuck himself into a ball when his back and hips hit the bonnet and then the windscreen of the saloon, shattering it. The car screeched to a halt and John rolled off and landed face down on the tarmac. He could faintly hear bystanders screaming while he tried to breathe. The impact had knocked the air right out of him and he struggled to get up. Before he could rise, his arms were caught and dragged behind him. He couldn’t make himself move and couldn’t resist. The pain he felt at the pull on his left shoulder was strangely distant.   The sound of handcuffs snapping onto his wrists penetrated the fog in his head. 

 _The bastards had caught him!_   Adrenalin pumped through his body and his heart started to race in near panic. They had him in handcuffs and were trying to pull him up as he tried unsuccessfully to regain his breath.  _This wasn’t supposed to happen._ Despair nearly swallowed him but he managed to contain it.  He would not allow the Tower to win. He’d die first.

Pain hit him like a sledgehammer and he screamed as they pulled hard on his left shoulder to get him to his feet.  Hanging limply between two sentinels, hands cuffed behind his back, he heard shouting and angry voices around him. When he raised his head and managed to open his eyes, he saw another black saloon had pulled up beside the damaged one, with three more Hunters standing around. They were aiming their guns at a mob shouting at them.  It seemed to be making the people angrier instead of forcing them to back down. 

John’s head was clearing, but he didn’t let on to the men holding him. Staying limp, he allowed them to drag him toward the undamaged car.  He managed to get one of his cuff keys out of his belt as they pushed him into the car.  None of the Protectors were looking at him and seemed to be focussed on the crowd. One of the cuffs was unlocked before they could close the door and he had the other door open and was out and running into the irate crowd surrounding the cars before the sentinels even noticed.  As before at the chemists’, the crowd parted for him but closed up to prevent the sentinels from pursuing.  He made it to the alleyway he wanted and clambered up onto the skip that then gave him access to a fire escape ladder.  His left arm and shoulder protested as he hoisted himself up, but he managed it, pulling the ladder up behind him to keep the sentinels from following. They saw where he was going, but once he was on the rooftops, he was home free.

Staggering up to the very top of the stairs, he balanced on the edge of the fire escape railing and pulled himself up to the roof. He was too shocked to register anything but triumph as he stood up and looked down at the Protectors vainly trying to find a way up.  _He’d made it!_

Turning quickly, mind blank, he ran as fast as he could across the roof tops, leapt across narrow gaps, climbed up and down ladders and access ways, making good progress, running faster and faster,  street after street falling away after him, leaving the Protectors farther and farther behind. 

When he finally paused for breath, he carefully searched for Hunters, but could detect nothing.  Sitting down in a dark corner between two buildings, he started to laugh quietly.  He was somewhat hysterical so he didn’t really notice when the laughter turned to tears. 

Resting his elbows on his knees and holding his head in his filthy hands, cuff dangling from one wrist, he sat in the rain and allowed himself to sob out his grief and sorrow at the loss of his future and the love of his life. 

After a long time his chilled flesh, aching bruises and stiffening muscles began screaming at him, so he knew he had to get to safety. Time to go.


	2. Chapter 2

Groaning as he sat up, John started on the last leg of his journey for the night.  The roof tops were wet and dangerous but he knew his way and took an easier route than he and Sherlock usually did.  No more leaping gaps or trying to navigate sharply slanted roofs. His exhaustion increased with each roof he traversed but he finally reached his destination.

A few months earlier, he and Sherlock had been exploring the same area and had discovered an older row of terraced houses that shared a common attic.  There was a small window latched on the inside that they could both fit through. Sherlock had easily unlocked it and they’d explored the entire length. It had been wonderful, a bit naughty but very exciting.

John opened the window and squirmed inside. It took a lot more effort than he’d remembered last time, but he’d not been exhausted and injured then. It hurt to remember being there with Sherlock, so he tried to put it out of his mind as he shuffled carefully and quietly down the length of the attic.  He poked into some of the trunks and found stored towels and blankets.  He and Sherlock had discovered the very last flat in the terrace was an office that wasn’t used on nights or weekends. 

Listening carefully with both his empathy and ears, John confirmed no one was there, just as he’d thought. Quietly, he opened up the ceiling hatch to the flat below and descended the ladder. The flat was dark but there was some light from the large window facing the construction site across the street. 

Moving to the toilet, John closed the door and turned on the light. He was a bruised and bloody mess.  Because there was no one home next door, he decided to risk taking a shower.  He was cold and aching, so the hot water felt heavenly on his battered and extremely overtaxed muscles. He stayed under the warm water until it began to cool and then dried off. 

Treating his cuts and scrapes took some time. He did have a serious laceration to the side of his head that could probably use sutures, but that wouldn’t be possible at the moment. He used some smaller plasters to pull the edges together and hoped that would do.

His jacket and trousers were a mess but he had a change of clothes in his bag. His jacket needed a good wash, though. It stank of slime and rubbish from the fight in the alley. He wiped off what he could and hung it over the bath to dry off. John had a hoodie and windcheater folded in his holdall and he could forage in the trunks in the attic for a coat or jacket if he was careful.   He could probably stay in the flat for the weekend if he was very quiet. 

Seating himself on the sofa, John listlessly ate a protein bar as he tried not to feel anything but numbness.  Exhaustion made that very easy.  Checking the time, he pulled out his mobile and thought about calling Starr but decided against it. There was time for that tomorrow. He was too tired and miserable to even think. Closing his eyes, he drifted off into an exhausted sleep.

No dreams interrupted his rest but many hours later, he kept hearing a chiming sound.  Waking reluctantly, he looked around until he was aware enough to realise it was his mobile giving him a text alert. He’d left it charging at a power point close by, so he picked it up.  The number was Mrs Hudson’s and it was after 7 am.  Worried and concerned, John opened the text.  

_My phone has been hacked and I’m sending this from Mrs Hudson’s mobile. It seems you are in communication with someone who is NOT me. Please do not do anything that person wants!_

_SH_

John couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Were the bastards going to try that again, thinking he’d be so stupid as to just walk into another ambush? What were they smoking? Did he dare risk responding? Before he could decide, the phone chimed again.

 _I’m just now back from Heathrow. I could tell something was wrong and I managed to get an almost direct flight out immediately after I spoke to you.  I’ve been travelling all day and night. Where are you? Are you all right? Please tell me you’re safe.  I’m concerned and so is Mrs Hudson._ _SH_

John thought for a while, trying to decide what to do. Wiping sleep from his eyes, he composed his own message.

_How do I know it’s really you? Why did you text rather than ring?_

_JW_

The reply was almost instant.

_John! Thank god. I’ve been so worried since Mrs Hudson told me what has been happening to you. Of course it’s me. We spoke on the phone the other day.  I told you that we would talk about trying to bond when I returned. And you know I always prefer to text. SH_

That was all true, but if his phone was hacked, whoever had done it could have listened in. If it was Mycroft, he knew Sherlock’s preferences, too.  His next text pointed that out. He also pointed out that Mrs Hudson’s mobile could easily have been stolen. 

_John, please believe me. It’s me, Sherlock. I would never lie to you._

_SH_

_I need more proof._

_JW_

There was a very long pause and then the next text message arrived. His throat closed with emotion as he read.

 _We were in the blue forest together._ _“I am yours and you are mine, in this life and the next. There will never be another. Take what is yours, sentinel!”_

_I want that, John._

_SH_

Taking some deep breaths to calm his racing heart and mind, John finally replied.

_I want that, too. What do we do now?_

_JW_

_You’re safe where you are? If so, rest. I’ll find a way to collect you later today.  I want us home, safe in my territory, when we bond._

_SH_

_Yes, I’m safe here. It may not be possible to go home right now. You should know that Mycroft is probably involved in having the warrant issued. He could have had your phone hacked, too and is watching the flat._

_JW_

_I suspected and have since confirmed it. I regret what he’s done to us and he will regret it, also._

_SH_

John looked forward to seeing that. There was going to be hell to pay and Mycroft would pay through the nose, if John had anything to say about it.  _That man is never going to be part of my family_. 

That last thought came out of nowhere and shocked him at how right the phrase _“my family”_ felt.  Sherlock was his family.

_Ring or text at this number if you need me. Mrs H is letting me keep the mobile for now._

_SH_

_I’ll see you later today, then.  Love you._

_JW_

_Me, too. Until later today, then. SH_

John smiled fondly at the text.  That was about as romantic as Sherlock got, he supposed.  But that was fine.  He wouldn’t want him any other way.

He lay back down on the couch, so thankful he could barely believe it.  He covered his face with shaking hands. It was as if all his Christmases had come at once and the joy and happiness he was feeling was almost overwhelming. To know that he hadn’t been wrong about Sherlock, that he hadn’t been betrayed was an incredible relief. 

Thinking back, he should have realised the timing of the first texts was wrong. There was no way Sherlock could have got home so quickly.  If he’d only remembered the time zones and how long it took to travel that far, he wouldn’t have been fooled, but he had never questioned the texts. He had questioned the tone of the texts, but was so glad thinking his nightmare was almost over, that he’d allowed himself to be misled.

He couldn’t beat himself up over being stupid like that.  Everything was going to be fine. His goals now were to find a safe place, reunite with Sherlock and bond their lives together.  Just how they were going to do that was the big question, but he looked forward to it very much.

Turning over on his side on the sofa, John tried to get comfortable. The bruises on his back and shoulders from where he’d hit the windscreen were making themselves felt but some paracetemol had helped with that as well as his aching shoulder.  He’d taken the maximum dose before he’d gone to sleep so the pain had quietened down somewhat but he was still uncomfortable. Maybe he should take some more.

Shifting again, he tried to analyse what he was feeling. There was an intense, strange sensation in his lower abdomen that he couldn’t really describe. It wasn’t painful like gas or constipation would be, but just a full and heavy feeling.  His nipples felt a bit sensitive, also. Not painful either, just sensitive enough to make him more aware of them.  It was something he’d not remembered ever experiencing before and he mentally reviewed possible causation.

Cursing his slowness and totally blaming the residue of the drug, having had to run for his life and been hit by a car all on the previous day, he finally understood what those symptoms meant. His body was preparing to go into heat and within the next few days. He’d hoped he would have had more time but it didn’t seem he could catch a break, unfortunately.   _Well, it was certainly going to be an interesting next few days,_ he thought philosophically, and went back to sleep.

Waking again was a painful process and he resisted for a while, but finally he had to get up to answer nature’s call.  He’d slept about another three hours and it was around 10 am.  Shuffling into the loo, he washed up and took a good look at himself in the mirror.   The damage wasn’t too bad, though he’d have a black eye where the sentinel had hit him on the side of his face. The plasters in the laceration had held together, so that was good.

Debating whether to try to go back to sleep, he decided he was too anxious and got dressed.  He had another protein bar but searched through the office’s kitchen instead.  There was a tin of soup and half a ham and cheese sarnie in the fridge which he consumed with great enjoyment.

The phone rang just as he was finishing. To his delight, it was Sherlock.  Before he could open his mouth, Sherlock began to speak urgently, sounding breathless as if he was running.

“John, you need to listen and do exactly as I say.  You’re about to be taken by the Tower.  I hacked into their computer system and have been monitoring their interior communications for the last two hours. I’m sorry I didn’t catch this earlier, but somehow one of the sentinels you encountered last night planted a tracking bug on you.  You moved out of range before they could find you and they’ve been searching for you all night. They just found you.  Protectors are mobilising now and will be surrounding the building within the next five minutes. They’ve got all the exits covered right now and you won’t be able to escape.”

“What? Bloody hell, Sherlock! What am I to do? I can fight my way out…”

Sherlock interrupted. “No, there are too many there already. You won’t make it and you’ll be injured if you try.  Please, John. Do as I say.” If John didn’t know better, he’d swear Sherlock was begging.  

John peeked carefully out the window and saw with dread that Sherlock was right.  The road outside was blocked off with a handful of vehicles and at least ten sentinels in their Protector uniforms.  He extended his empathy to the surrounding building and roof tops as far as he could and only found danger.  He was truly screwed.

“Sherlock…” He couldn’t believe this was happening. “I can’t let them take me, Sherlock. I belong only to you. I’ll die before I’ll let them take me.”

There was only harsh breathing for a few moments on the other end of the line. Then Sherlock responded fiercely, voice deepening, “John, that won’t happen. No one else will touch you. Please trust me. You are mine! I’m coming for you. Just do as I say.”

John waffled for a bit, but it was his alpha requesting this and he had to agree. “Yes. Yes, all right. What do you want me to do?” Nervously watching through the window, John could see that the sentinels were closing in. Fear and anger surged through him.

“Allow them to take you to the Tower.” Sherlock sounded very rushed. “I’m working on a way to get you out once they bring you in.”

”What? That place is huge, Sherlock! How are you going to know where they plan to put me? And how will you communicate with me? They’re sure to take my mobile!”

”They will likely take you to one of the guide rooms. They’re in the oldest part of the Tower on the upper floors. You still have the tracker—it’s probably on your jacket. Quickly! Check for it.”

John fetched his jacket from the toilet and found the tracker stuck under the collar.

“Found it, Sherlock.”

”I’ve turned it off but will turn it on once you are taken to the Tower.  They have assumed you’ve thrown it away and are no longer trying to track it. If we can’t communicate any other way, I’ll be able to pin point you within the Tower once I’ve turned it back on. Pay close attention to where they take you and be prepared to tell me what you’ve seen.  I’ll need to rely on you to communicate with me once you’re in the guide cell. Can you hide your mobile?

”Teach your grandmother to suck eggs, Sherlock. I can hide it in my boot. But they’ll be certain to search me. Proper procedure dictates they take away my clothes.” 

”They wouldn’t know proper procedure if it bit them on the arse. They won’t try to take them from you right away.  One of the first things I ever saw about you, John, is that you excel at misdirection.  Everyone always underestimates you, even though you are clearly extraordinary.  I suspect you use your exceptional empathic abilities to put people at ease and I expect you will use that on your guards.

“The idiots at the Tower have no idea that you were once a member of an elite Special Forces team. All they know is that you’re an ex-military doctor. Even Mycroft has no clue as to what you can do. You have training and resources they don’t even know exist. You can probably break out of that place without any help from me. “

“Sherlock? How…” John was almost speechless with shock. How could Sherlock possibly know any of that?  The missions his team had been on were so classified there weren’t even any written records.

“I observed and put together the few clues you gave me.  And I know you, John. I know who and what you are, and the secrets you’ve kept from everyone else.  I’ve lived with you and worked with you for over a year and have watched you very, very closely. I know you like no other in this world because you fascinate me like no other.  Now I need you to let them take you without a struggle. I can’t risk you being injured.”

John didn’t know what to say to that.  He was terrified. Sherlock knew he was an omega guide?  He didn’t know what to do. Maybe he should still try to get out anyway.

“You can’t get out, John. They now have the entire row of flats surrounded. I’m working on a plan. I told you. I will _not_ leave you there. I will _always_ come for you! Now hide your phone and get ready. I doubt they’ll hurt you but you need to be prepared that they might be rough with you.”

“All right, Sherlock. I’ll do as you say.  If whatever you’re planning doesn’t work, I want you to know I won’t allow anyone else to touch me. I promise that I’m yours only.”

“I’m yours and you are mine.  Please, please do as I say and we’ll be together soon.” Sherlock was begging.  “I have to go now.”   The line went dead.

John looked out the window again, mind blank. He couldn’t believe this. It all seemed unreal. Absently he bent and slipped the phone into a hidden compartment in his boot, then put on his smelly jacket. It looked cold outside and the nasty smell might encourage the sentinels to keep their hands to themselves. 

Breathing deeply, he tried to relax and calm the butterflies in his stomach.  He was anxious about what might happen but he could do this. John had complete trust in Sherlock. Not knowing exactly what his future bond mate had in mind was frightening but he would do his best not to screw this up.

He heard footsteps on the landing outside the flat and then the door began to shake as an Enforcer crashed into it.  John positioned himself in the centre of the room, away from the door with his hands up and out to the side. 

The door slammed open and the room was suddenly swarming with black uniformed Protectors armed with truncheons. It seemed at least half of the men he’d seen outside were squeezing themselves into the small room. 

They were wearing body armour and riot gear.   John kept very still, eyes down and hands up as he was surrounded.  These men seemed very nervous and he didn’t want to get beaten unconscious.  ”Hands on your head and get on your knees! Cross your ankles!”  Slowly, John obeyed the orders barked at him by one of the Protectors. With their helmets on, he couldn’t tell them apart or which one was shouting at him.  Two of them walked carefully behind him and cuffed his hands efficiently.  They patted him down perfunctorily, taking his wallet, the tranquilliser pistol and his keys. They then backed off fast, giving the items to the man who had shouted at him.

“Stand up and walk through the door. Do it now!” bellowed the beefy sentinel that John finally identified as the one in charge. Two Hunters walked backward out the door as the doctor stepped forward, hands cuffed behind him.  John was rather surprised that someone hadn’t searched him more thoroughly before they cuffed him but he wasn’t going to complain.

Doing his best to project helplessness and dejection, he moved as instructed. Heart in his throat, pulse pounding, John stumbled down the stairs toward the exit and the rest of the Protectors waiting outside.

Reaching the outdoors, John stopped after a few steps, blinked in the morning sunlight and looked about. There were a fair number of Protectors and sentinels standing around, observing avidly.  There was a murmur and a restless shifting from all the watching sentinels when he emerged from the building.  Every bit of their attention was fixed on him. 

Using his empathy to test the emotional ambience, he was surprised that the Hunters weren’t angry with him as he’d expected. They were excited and admiring. He was, after all, an omega guide and all of them were alphas. He wondered how many were unbonded. Knowing that wouldn’t help much at all, though. It felt unsettling, strange and a little bit creepy.

There were two saloon cars with darkened windows parked in the street off to John’s right. The one-way road was blocked off to John’s left but he could see reporters and camera operators as well as a minibus with a satellite dish on the roof parked far back from the scene.   A helicopter flew overhead, but John couldn’t tell if it was media or police.

 _Great._ His humiliation would be completely public.  Maybe it was a good thing. From what he had seen, the average person on the street had a lot of sympathy for his situation. Was there a chance that same sympathy could be used to oppose the pending anti-guide and omega laws?  If  people could see first hand what kind of treatment they could expect from being forced into the Tower, maybe they would band together to stop the laws from being passed. He decided to see if he could create an incident that would look bad for the Tower.

While John paused at the door, a tall, grey haired sentinel with a forbidding expression separated himself from the Protectors standing near the vehicles and walked toward the group surrounding John.  The doctor recognised him from the press conference as the Alpha Prime Sentinel Colin Fitzhugh. 

John was not particularly impressed with the Alpha Prime and apparently the feeling was mutual.  When he’d seen him on the telly, John had thought him somewhat attractive and now he understood why. To John’s horror, he realised Fitzhugh was unbonded. From the little the doctor knew about sentinels, it was rare for someone so high in the hierarchy of the Tower to be unbonded. Maybe his guide had died?  Whatever the story was, John was doubly wary and strengthened his shields as much as he could.

The Alpha Prime gestured to the guards surrounding John.  “I want him on his knees.” Looking at each other dubiously, two of the Protectors shrugged and tried to push John down. The doctor resisted and it became an embarrassing struggle for two Protectors to get one, much smaller man to comply with the order. Finally they had to threaten to hit him in the legs with truncheons before they could force him down. Not wanting to be seriously injured, John finally obeyed.

Fitzhugh stared down on John with a derisive expression. Speaking slowly and quietly to the doctor as if he were mentally defective, he said, “So this is John Watson. We finally caught you. I can’t say you’re what I was expecting and I find it hard to credit the tales they’re telling about you. I just hope all this effort will be worth it.  Even though you’re old, I plan to fight for you and when I win, I’ll make sure you’ll bear many guides for the Tower like a good little omega.” 

Narrowing his eyes, John’s expression tightened in loathing and he replied with deadly seriousness.

“You can kiss my hairy arse.  I’ll die before I let you touch me.” 

The Alpha Prime laughed at John’s challenge. He leaned closer and spoke in a confiding tone. “Oh, I doubt that. You’ll be kept safe, locked in the Tower until the Tournament is over. When I win, I’ll make sure that you’ll be begging for my cock by the end. You can count on it.”

At his words, something in John snapped. The former soldier leapt to his feet and before anyone could react, barrelled into the Alpha Prime, knocking him over. He then sprinted as fast as he could away from the assembled sentinels. He knew it was hopeless, but maybe he could get them to do something they’d regret.

John knew he didn’t have much time before they subdued him. Surprisingly, he got further than he imagined before he was taken down by the guards and hauled back to the Alpha Prime. He refused to walk and struggled the entire way, emphasising to the cameras and any witnesses that it took four men to bring down one, small man.

Staggering, John was forced down to his knees again. Fitzhugh had been helped up and now he was purple with rage. The only thing damaged was his pride. John smirked as the tall sentinel stalked over to him.  Even though he was handcuffed, the guards on both sides of John held him tightly by the arms, afraid he might assault their leader again.  Fitzhugh’s voice was hoarse and strained.  “You’ll pay for that, omega. I’ll see to it personally.”  He then backhanded John with all his considerable strength. Things went white for a bit as blood filled his mouth and dribbled down his chin.  He spat it on the Alpha Prime’s shiny black boot and laughed silently at the stupid man. Objective obtained.

Didn’t the idiot know that there were cameras filming? That everybody and his brother were probably watching this live or at least would on the local newscasts later that day? Either he didn’t care or was too angry to care.  Regardless, it was another nail in the legislation’s coffin if things worked out the way John hoped.

“Take him away. I want him locked up now!”  Fitzhugh stalked away toward one of the cars, steam practically pouring out of his ears and his administrative team flitting around him. 

John was nervously urged by the guards toward one of the saloons parked nearby. He heard the helicopter circling above again and looked up.  It was from the media.  _Good._

Reluctantly he allowed himself to be taken toward one of the vehicles and looked around anxiously. A very tall, slender sentinel, in full riot gear including helmet, got out of the driver’s side and quickly opened the back door of the vehicle for John.  The doctor was sandwiched in between two very large Protectors and the vehicle started up.  He was on his way to the Tower.

Numb with disbelief, he tried hard to pay attention.  Shock was setting in and he wished he had a damn orange blanket.  Dread and fear filled his mind and he began to shake with cold.  Thankfully, the two sentinels to either side of him were radiating heat like furnaces, which helped somewhat.  He needed to keep alert and attentive.

The ride to the Tower was mercifully short and they pulled up in front of the building. Fitzhugh wasn’t going to give him any privacy and planned on marching him through the front doors like some kind of prize.  Which he supposed was basically what he was: a prize.

This was his absolute worst nightmare come true and he stared up at the façade in horror.  At the sight of the massive pile of medieval stone, he froze and refused to move. The guards had to haul him bodily out of the car and began to drag him toward the doors. Involuntarily, he cried out in pain when they strained his bad shoulder and they stopped for a moment to get a better grip.

The media had chased them all the way to the Tower and ran toward them, only to be stopped by sentinels and support staff swarming out of the Tower. Fitzhugh had exited his vehicle ahead of everyone and was leading a procession to the front doors, strutting proudly as if he were the one who personally caught John.  He waved and smirked at the members of the Press, who were yelling questions and trying to get a statement.

John knew he must look a mess. The cut on his scalp had opened up again during his abortive escape attempt and the blood drying on the side of his face was itching like crazy.  Blood must also be on his chin and swollen lip since he could still taste it from the new cuts inside his mouth caused when he’d been struck by Fitzhugh. He’d had no way to wipe if off and he hoped the cameras got a good shot of it.  

He’d make quite the pretty picture, fat lip, black eye, bruised, bloody and bedraggled, helpless and stumbling. He hoped he was making the sentinels look like total dicks. Since he could, he decided to try to appeal to the press for help but was instantly surrounded by so many guards that he could no longer see anything let alone move anywhere but where they wanted him to go.  He fought them hopelessly, every step of the way.


	3. Chapter 3

The large double doors slammed loudly behind his small group as they managed to force him into the lobby. The room was huge with tall ceilings but, despite a lot of artificial lighting, was overwhelmingly dark and dreary looking.  This part of the building was over a thousand years old and John could see no effort had been made to dress the stone blocks or even modernise much.  The doctor wondered if it was kept this way to intimidate newcomers. If that was the reason, it certainly worked. 

The place was oppressive and John picked up on a myriad of negative emotions.  Without even having to extend his empathy, the emotional ambience of the place surrounded and enfolded him in negativity and unhappiness.  He bolstered his shields but it didn’t help a lot.  The morale of this place reflected completely on the leader of the Tower and John could sense that not all were happy with the way things were going. That could be useful. 

Everyone stopped and quietened, waiting for Fitzhugh to address them. Before he could, however, a small, slender man stepped forward and approached John. It was clear that he was either well respected or greatly feared, as the guards stood back, allowing him access to John.  

Something about him told John this man was a guide and a highly placed one at that.  Maybe he was bonded to one of the higher ranking sentinels in the Tower or was a strong empath. John shot a quick look at the Alpha Prime, who looked like he was sucking on a lemon. So this man was not a favourite and/or there was some kind of political rivalry here. John was picking up on a strange emotional mood and couldn’t really make heads or tails of it.

The man was staring at him in dismay and anger, though the anger wasn’t directed at John.  The guide turned on Fitzhugh and John caught the edge of irritation and disgust directed at the Alpha Prime. 

“What the hell did you do to him?  He looks like he’s been beaten to a pulp! Did you punch him in front of the media? Did you even think about what that would make us look like to the public?”  
  
”Now you wait a damn minute, Douglas! I did what I thought was appropriate. You weren’t there.” Fitzhugh jabbed a finger at John. “He needs to be taught his place. I don’t give a fuck what the media saw or didn’t see.”  The sentinels and guides in the room seemed to take a collective breath and moved restlessly.  John saw a few staring at each other in disbelief at this statement. Fitzhugh was completely blind to public opinion, apparently. 

Fitzhugh didn’t seem to notice the reaction his words had inspired. “Right now he’s no more use to us than a wild animal. Until he’s bonded and bred, he has to be kept under tight control. You know he’s attacked sentinels and even permanently injured an unbonded, though that’s hard to believe, just looking at him.”  Voice dripping with scorn, he continued, “Until he’s broken, we have to keep him locked up or supervised at all times.  

“I will not apologise for showing him his place. As a guide, he’s the lowest of the low here and it’s in his best interests if he accepts it. The sooner he understands this, the better for all of us.”   A fair number of sentinels were nodding at this, but John didn’t see any guides doing that. In fact, quite a few were looking rather upset at these words. 

The guide, Douglas, quite obviously disagreed also but it seemed he was going to choose his battles and not pursue it today.  Mouth tight, he spun back around to face John and approached again.  His expression turned to one of frustration and annoyance.  

Addressing the guards, he said, “Take him to medical.  He needs to have these injuries seen to as soon as possible.  Then bring him to the secure guide cell. Keep him restrained at all times.” 

Finally, he spoke directly to John. “I’m sorry this has happened to you but the Alpha Prime is correct. The sooner you stop fighting us and accept your place, the better it will be for you.” 

John didn’t react and just glared at him. They’d get nothing out of him. As far as John was concerned, every guide and every sentinel in this damn Tower was complicit in his abduction and imprisonment.  He wasn’t going to forgive or forget. 

Sighing, the guide turned away. Staring fixedly at Fitzhugh for a few seconds, he declared, “You haven’t heard the last of this, Alpha Prime.  Abuse of a guide is a serious thing and I won’t stand for it.”  He stalked off toward the back of the room where there apparently was a passageway or something, because he disappeared from sight pretty quickly.  _Very interesting_ , thought John.  _Politics raising its ugly head._  

Fitzhugh looked less than happy, his triumphant return having been disrupted by Douglas.  Frustrated, he gestured vaguely at John’s guards. 

“Do as he said. Take him to medical and then a cell. I’ve got better things to do.” With that, he also stalked out of the room, leaving John standing there with his guards and a bunch of strangers milling around.  

“Come along.” The guard holding his right arm pulled him forward toward a dimly lit corridor. They walked for a short distance and then it became much brighter.  They had finally reached a more modern section of the building.  It felt physically warmer but no more welcoming than before.  

They reached a bank of lifts and waited for one to arrive. No one spoke and John took the opportunity to look carefully about.  No cameras were visible, but that didn’t mean there weren’t any. Stairwells with exit signs were at either side of the hallway, beside the lifts. Additional hallways continued past the lifts and further back into the more modern parts of the building. John couldn’t be certain but he guessed there were offices or something similar back there.  

The area they waited in looked to be a more public section of the Tower and had that impersonal lobby appearance. The area was also a hive of activity. Many people walked through the hallways quickly, obviously in a hurry to get where they needed to go. Some were dressed as Protectors, but many were dressed in civilian clothes one would expect in an office environment.  Some of them took the time to glance curiously at him but none stared and he didn’t pick up any hostility.  

John considered possible escape routes. If he could get out and down to this level, he was sure he could simply walk out of the place. One of the things he excelled at was being inconspicuous.  Unless there was a specific alert for him, he was confident no one would notice him leaving.  If he could get out.  That remained to be seen.  

He just needed to get through the next hour or so and then try to contact Sherlock.  Hopefully, the detective would have a plan of attack and he’d be out of this awful place. 

The lift arrived and they all crowded in. It was a tight fit for six guards and one small doctor.  The close quarters reminded John that his jacket stank and hoped the sentinels choked on it.  

The lift took them four storeys up. He was then marched further back into the most modern part of the building.  Even though more modern, the décor wasn’t that new and, though meticulously clean, was a bit shabby.  John wondered if all the money the sentinels earned and tithed to the Tower was buying politicians rather than upgrading their living and working space. That was typical of poor planning and no oversight, which didn’t surprise John at all, considering it was Fitzhugh who was leading the Tower. 

Many sentinels worked as bodyguards or special security details and they tithed to their local Tower, where many had living quarters.  There were also special units that worked with the police, fire departments and search and rescue.  Very few worked in the armed forces since most sentinels were very much tied to working only within their personal or family territories. 

Henderson was an exceedingly rare sentinel in that he viewed his entire world as his territory and could easily work anywhere within it.  Sherlock was also rare in that he lived and worked within his territory but had no affiliation with the local Tower or its hierarchy. 

They stopped in front of a door and he was dragged inside. It seemed they were in a waiting room of sorts and it was currently empty.  A middle aged woman in a lab coat walked in through another door and looked shocked for a moment to see all the people jammed into one room. 

“What’s all this?  Who sent you?” She seemed rather put out by the interruption.  
  
The guard who had John’s left arm nodded respectfully to her and said, “We’re here on Douglas’s orders, Dr Brown. He asked you to treat this one for injuries and then we’re to take him to the guide cell.” Her eyes got wide at the last bit but she responded quickly and professionally. 

“Bring him in here, then. And get those cuffs off him.” She turned and walked into a larger room that was clearly for examination and treatment. It was very clean and bright, but the equipment John could see wasn’t the most advanced either. 

He could tell she was neither a sentinel nor guide, but a normal beta and wondered how she’d ended up working in the Tower.  Some of his “normal” classmates had specialised in sentinel/guide medicine but he’d stayed away from that field, aside from what was required in his normal coursework.  He supposed it could easily be a fascinating field of study. 

“I’m sorry but we can’t remove the handcuffs. He might hurt you or someone else and then we’d have to hurt him. Can’t you just clean him up a bit?”  
  
She looked positively scandalised. “How can I examine him when I can’t even take his jacket off?”  She certainly had a point and John looked back at the guards curiously. Frankly, he didn’t want her to remove his jacket or any of his clothes, but especially the jacket. The tracker was still on it and he’d not thought to remove it in the confusion before his capture.  

Before the guards could reply or worse yet, call Fitzhugh for further orders, John cleared his throat and addressed the woman.  “Um, Dr Brown, right?” The guards stiffened at the sound of his voice but he ignored them. The woman frowned at the charged atmosphere, but nodded. 

“There’s no need to remove the cuffs since it will just upset the guards. I only have superficial injuries, mostly to the face and head. The worst is this laceration on my scalp. It could probably use some sutures.”  Dr Brown continued to frown at him and seemed to consider the situation. 

“This is most irregular. I need to take vitals and establish a baseline with you. You’re the new guide, correct?” When John didn’t reply, she got closer and sniffed, making a face. “This jacket is unsanitary and it needs to come off. I’ll cut it off of you if I must.” 

The head guard turned to John. “I will release you from the handcuffs temporarily if you promise not to cause any trouble.  Otherwise we will force you down onto that bed and restrain you while she cuts off all your clothes. Then we’ll make you walk naked through the halls. Is that clear?” 

John considered fighting them, but decided it wouldn’t be worth it.  Dr Brown hadn’t done anything to him and she might get hurt. She was a fellow medical professional after all. John’s expression tightened but he gave in.  “Crystal clear. I’ll not cause any trouble in this room.”  

Dr Brown had watched the exchange between them with concern. “Is he really a danger to you? He’s half your size.”  
  
Offended, the chief guard answered testily.  “Doctor, he put down four sentinels at once. Didn’t you see the video on the news?” She shook her head.  “He’s got training of some sort. He could seriously injure you. Please stand over there while we get the cuffs off and remove his jacket.”

”Before you remove the cuffs, I need some information.” Dr Brown picked up a clipboard with a couple of lengthy forms attached.

The head guard sighed. “Can’t you do that later? We have orders to get him to his cell after he gets his injuries tended.” 

“May I at least get his name?” she sniffed, annoyed. She obviously wasn’t used to being thwarted from proper procedure.  John knew quite a few doctors like that. 

Before they could continue arguing, John interrupted them. “My name is John Watson. What other information do you need?” He answered a few important questions concerning allergies and medications taken. Once she was done, she set aside the clipboard.

”We can finish this later in the week. I’ll expect to get a complete baseline on you then. But since these lads are getting nervous, we’ll get started.” 

“Now remember your promise to behave and we won’t hurt you.” When John nodded, one of the guards carefully removed his cuffs and stood back.   His shoulder was very stiff and he tried rotating it a few times to loosen it up, but it just began to ache more. Slowly and carefully, he removed his jacket and handed it to one of the Protectors.  

Dr Brown gave the guard a rubbish bin liner. “Here. Put that in this and put it outside.” John resigned himself to never seeing that particular jacket again. The tracker was still on the collar, though.  Sherlock wouldn’t be able to find him that way any longer. 

With that, she moved closer. When she did, her eyes opened wide and she gasped. “You’re an omega! An omega guide!”  John wanted to roll his eyes.  She looked quickly over at the head guard. “Why didn’t you say so at first? We’ll need to get a specialist in omegas here.” 

“Sorry, we have no orders about that,” was all the answer she got and turned back to John with a stricken look. “I won’t be able to care for you as an omega. I have no training in omega medicine.”  
  
”It’s fine. I don’t care. Just take my vitals, treat the superficial cuts and we’ll deal with all that later.” Relieved, she nodded and gathered the items she needed while the guards surrounded him. 

“Right. So where do you want me?” he asked, looking around the room.  She gestured to the gurney.  He hopped up and sat on the paper cover.

”We’ll start with vitals.” Pulse, respiration and blood pressure were all recorded.  Picking up her stethoscope, Dr Brown indicated he should open up his shirt so she could listen to his heart. He reached for the buttons of his shirt and opened them only halfway, revealing the black protective undergarment.  He reached for the throat piece and opened it quickly. The distinctive sound of Velcro made the guards jump and he froze. 

”What’s that you’ve got on under there?”  Dr Brown asked, squinting at him.  
  
”It’s just a kind of thermal. For outdoor use, mostly,” he improvised quickly.  The guards relaxed as he opened up the front, exposing just enough of his chest for her to listen to his heart and lungs.  “Any other injuries I should know about?” When John shook his head, she looked at him narrowly for a moment and then stood back. 

“All right, then. I’ll clean you up now and you can go with them.” She turned away to gather supplies to treat his injuries. John started to button back up when one of the guards cleared his throat and spoke to Dr Brown. 

“That left shoulder of his is injured. When we pulled him out of the car, it seemed to cause him a lot of pain. He’s been trying to hide that it still hurts. Maybe you should look at it before we go?”  John cursed silently and sat still, looking down and waiting for her decision. 

The doctor crossed her arms and her expression tightened in disapproval. “Mr Watson? Is it true that your shoulder is injured?” John looked up at her, unsure what to say. Finally he decided on the truth.

”Yes, but it’s an old injury and there’s nothing you can do about it.”  Somehow, Dr Brown took that as a challenge. 

“I’ll be the judge of that.” She reached for his shirt and began to fold both it and the undergarment back. John made an abortive attempt to stop her but all the guards tensed up and he stopped immediately.  He reluctantly allowed her to peel back the shirts to reveal the gunshot wound in his shoulder. 

She gasped in horror at the sight and a couple of the guards turned pale. It _was_ rather ugly. Exit wounds tended to be and this one had become badly infected before it finally healed. They’d also had to reconstruct his clavicle using a bone taken from his rib, so it was somewhat distorted looking beneath the scarring.   She pulled the sleeve down over his arm and slid it off to reveal the other old scars and new bruises all over his torso and back.  

He was rather a mess, he had to admit. Glancing down at his shoulder, he could see the healed wound site was swollen and inflamed. It got like that whenever he’d strained it but a few days rest would put it right. There was a lot of nerve damage in that area so he often didn’t realise until later that the wound area itself had been irritated. 

“Is… is that a gunshot wound?” Clearly she’d never seen one before and moved around behind him to see the puckered star shaped entrance wound.  The scapula had been broken badly by the bullet but had healed well once it had been pinned back together. It was the exit wound that had given him the most trouble. 

He belatedly remembered being struck back there by the unbonded sentinel with his dart gun. The bruise must be really spectacular because he heard her quiet gasp when she saw it and the bruising caused by the windscreen.

”What has happened to you? This is…” She seemed to struggle for words. “This is unacceptable!”  

John wanted this to be over. Exasperated, he said, “Look, I’m fine.  It’s not serious bruising and things will sort themselves out with time. As for my shoulder, yes, it’s a gunshot wound.”  It had been caused by one armour piercing round fired by a sniper from over 1000 yards away, penetrating through his body armour. He’d been kneeling over an injured team mate and had moved just as the bullet hit.  If he’d not moved, it would have drilled straight through his spine and heart.  

As it was, it had nearly killed him. The bullet itself had missed the shoulder joint and all major arteries, but the shattered clavicle had nicked a large vein.  Thankfully Bill had been there and had jammed his fingers into the gaping cavity to clamp the bleeder until they’d made it to hospital.  

Clothing and body armour fragments combined with the bacteria Bill’s fingers had introduced were what had caused the massive infection that had nearly taken his life again.  A lot of nerves had been destroyed but he had survived and that was all that truly mattered. 

“How could this happen?  That an omega guide could be injured this way?” The doctor was indignant. 

John sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “No one knew I was a guide when I joined the army after med school.” 

She came around and gaped at him. “You were allowed in combat? And were injured? An omega? This wound looks like it almost took your life!” She sounded absolutely indignant.  
  
”I live as a beta, normally. Can we get on with this, please?” If anything, Dr Brown looked more scandalised but she subsided. 

“Well, you’re right that there’s not much I can do for this. But I do have chemical cold and heat packs that I’ll give you before you go and I expect you to use them.” 

She made short work of cleaning his wounds and stapling the head laceration. His lip didn’t need any sutures even though Fitzhugh had a hard hand. 

Cleaned up and clothes back together, he put his hands behind his back so they could cuff him again.  Dr Brown stopped them before they could even get the cuffs out. 

“His shoulder can’t take that kind of abuse.  His arm needs to be supported so you’ll have to handcuff him from the front.” She handed John a sling.

”I know the old saying about doctors making the worst patients and I can see it’s true for you.  However, I expect you to use this for the next few days and I’ll be checking on you.” She was frowning at him as he took the sling.   

After putting on the sling, he held out his hands for the cuffs.  They were snapped on and he was led out of the office and back toward the lifts. 

This time they ended up on the third level. John was taken toward the front of the Tower and into the oldest part of the building.  They stopped at a non-descript door with the number 9 and John was ushered into the room.   
  
It was not very large and rectangular in shape. The walls were undressed stone blocks with a window high above that let in little light. The window looked to be barred but he would check to be sure later. Fluorescent lights buzzed high above but the room still seemed dim. 

A small table with a couple of chairs sat at one end of the room while a small bed dominated the other side.  There was a tiny alcove behind the wall where the bed was situated with a toilet, sink and shower combination.  

“We’ll leave you here now. Someone will come by to speak with you later.” The guard dumped the chemical cold and heat packs on the table. 

They left him alone in the room, still cuffed, and locked the door. The walls were an old but solid construction and the door, though also older, had a very sturdy electronic lock. It would be tough to open, but not insurmountable, given enough time. 

A quick but thorough examination of the small room and all the furniture revealed no cameras or bugs.   John was rather mystified. He would have expected them to have him locked up much tighter and under serious observation.  Maybe they were simply unused to keeping someone a prisoner.  Well, he could use that to his advantage.   

Listening intently at the door and carefully sending out a tendril of empathy, he could tell there was no one in the immediate area.  No guards at the doors? They certainly had no idea who they were dealing with.  

Time to call Sherlock. Just to be cautious, he moved into the toilet alcove and turned on the water in the tiny sink.  Sitting on the toilet lid, he dialled Sherlock’s number.  The detective picked up right away.

”John, are you all right?” Sherlock sounded tense and worried.  
  
Something inside relaxed in relief at the sound of his future bond-mate’s voice. ”I’m fine. Everything’s fine. They took me to medical and then put me in this cell on the third storey. Room number 9.  But you should know that I’ve lost the tracker. They took my jacket and the bug was still with it.” 

“There’s no help for it, then.  We’ll manage.” 

“So what’s happening on your end?” 

“There’s a great deal of activity in the Tower right now.  From what I can determine Fitzhugh is calling in the Alphas Primes of all the other Towers to begin arranging the Tournament.”  His voice was thoughtful. “It seems many of them will be coming in tonight and tomorrow and bringing their eligible unbonded alphas. That many new people coming and going in and out of the Tower is a perfect opportunity to infiltrate the building in disguise. 

“I’ve got diagrams of all the floors and have also hacked into the Tower’s main servers. That way I can keep track of what’s happening and might be able to bypass many of the security systems when I come to get you out.” 

“Sherlock, I’m pretty sure I can get myself out of this room. There’s a very good chance I can to get to the first level using the stairs by the lifts.  The security measures on the lower floors are much tougher than this floor, though.   There are no cameras and or bugs that I can find. The windows are barred but I might be able to get the lock if I have enough time. Can you tell if it’s connected to any alarms?”  
  
There was a bit of rustling on the other end as Sherlock searched the security systems of the Tower on his laptop. John could hear the tapping of keys. “Hmmm. There are no alarms that I can see, but every door opening does register on their system and your particular door is flagged.” John waited as Sherlock continued to search. 

“It may not be necessary for you to open the lock yourself. The door can also be remotely accessed.  I can bypass their security system and write some code that will conceal the opening from the system and also program it to open remotely at a specific time.” 

“Good.  That will work for me.” 

“Some of this will have to be done on site, which means I’ll need to infiltrate the Tower’s Security Room. I can do this at shift change, which is approximately 9pm. Once I get this programmed and implemented, I’ll meet you at the north stair. That location is furthest away from all the activity and has the lightest security.  Do you have your watch with you?  
  
”Yes. They only took my wallet, my keys and the weapons I liberated from them.” 

John listened to the computer keys tapping again the other end of the line and then Sherlock was back. “Good. It’s approximately 1 pm right now.  I will keep track of communications but I suspect things will wind down after midnight. I will program the door to open at half 12 and then we can rendezvous in the stairwell at 1am.  I am confident we can get ourselves out without anyone being the wiser. 

“Be ready to meet me at 1am, north stair, third level. It goes without saying that you should not eat anything they give you.” 

Fondly, John responded with mock exasperation. “Yes, dear. I know how this works. As my American friends used to say, this is not my first rodeo.” 

Sherlock huffed out a laugh. “Of course. Please get some rest. We have our work cut out for us but I know we can do this.”  
  
”I can do anything with you, Sherlock. Good luck. I’ll see you at one.” 

“Ring me every few hours, if you can. I’ll update you on any changes in plan. Good luck to you, as well.”  
  
John checked the charge on his mobile. “I may only have one more call in this phone. I don’t know why, but the battery’s nearly gone. I’ll need to save it for emergencies.”  Sherlock agreed and John turned off the mobile. So now all that was left to do was wait and trust in his sentinel.  He and Sherlock were an unstoppable team and this plan would work. 

Turning off the water, he used and then flushed the toilet. His hands were still cuffed in front so he pulled out a key and unlocked one of them. If someone were to come in, he could quickly lock it if necessary.  

His eye swept over the box of cold and heat chemical compresses. Now would be a good time to use one before anything else happened.  Lying down on the hard bed, he tucked a cold compress under his shirts and closed his eyes. He’d alternate with a hot one in a few minutes but he drifted off to sleep instead. 

The sound of the electronic lock clicking and the door opening woke him from a dreamless sleep. He managed to put the cuff back on just as two of his previous guards came in, followed by the guide, Douglas.  

John sat up with a groan and caught the now warm cold pack as it fell from his shoulder. Shrugging his shirt back on, he buttoned it and turned to face the men. Checking his watch, he saw that he’d slept about three hours and it was close to 4pm.  Only 9 hours to go and he’d be out of here.    
  
To John’s surprise, Douglas dismissed the two guards. They went without protest and locked the door behind them.  

“Dr Watson, I realise we’ve not been properly introduced. I’m James Douglas, Prime Guide of London Tower. I am the head guide of all the empaths associated with this Tower. I expect we’ll get to know one another rather well in the coming years.” He looked a bit unhappy at the thought.   

John said nothing and continued to sit on the bed, watching him warily. 

“Despite the Warrant of Custody, I don’t think we really need to test you to see if you’re a guide. Having seen that video where you held your ground against three of our stronger empaths, it’s apparent to me that you’re certainly a very strong guide. If I’m going to be perfectly honest, I suspect you’re much stronger than I am. 

“You probably don’t know this but guide leaders within the Towers are chosen by level of empathic strength. This means that you’ll likely be taking my job once you’re bonded and trained.”  Douglas crossed his arms across his chest and looked at the doctor in annoyance. 

Trained? That sounded strange and rather ominous.  When John didn’t reply, the guide continued.  “It’s very clear you don’t want to be here. If it were up to me, I’d open that door and escort you out myself. 

“Frankly, Dr Watson, you’re a public relations nightmare for me.  Our favourability rating with the general public is at an all-time low right now because of you. The press are hounding us constantly for information about you. I’m surprised they haven’t stormed the front gates with torches and pitchforks.” John looked up sharply at that and raised his brows questioningly. 

“Oh, yes. You’ve become a media darling. They want to know who you are and what we’ve done to you. Don’t worry, they don’t know who you are yet and we don’t plan to tell them.” His mouth tightened with anger and he huffed out an unpleasant laugh. 

“If they found out that Fitzhugh made a former Army Captain, a decorated war hero and field surgeon credited with saving hundreds of lives, kneel to him and then struck him, unprovoked, there would be absolute hell to pay. It’s bad enough that he did it to a handcuffed, helpless guide.  Getting anyone to voluntarily come in to be trained as a guide is going to be impossible now, because of you. 

“In fact, I understand there might be questions asked in Parliament about what Fitzhugh did to you in front of those cameras.” Douglas turned away and began to pace in the small area between the table and the door. He was clearly furious but thankfully not at John. 

“This whole Hunt has been a disaster. The public thinks sentinels are Neanderthals anyway and now they’ve got proof!  I’ve been trying to bring the Tower into the 21st century and Fitzhugh keeps dragging us back to the Stone Age by his thoughtless actions.” 

He turned to look thoughtfully and with some sympathy at John.  “You should know that Fitzhugh is going to fight for you in the Tournament.  If he wins you—and he has an excellent chance-- he has effectively consolidated his power here at the Tower. You’ll be Prime Guide and he’s already Alpha Prime. Things will really go to shit if that happens. Unless you are willing to go against him.” 

John had had enough. “Look, why are you telling me this? I could give a rat’s arse about your internal politics.”  
  
”You _should_ care! This Tower is going to be your home for the rest of your life. Your children are going to be born and raised here. You need to think about the future for yourself and for them.  I understand that you have a life and career that you want to keep and I don’t blame you. However, that’s now in the past. You’re here now and you need to make the best of it. 

“So later this week, after some of that swelling on your face goes down, we’ll cover your bruises with make up and you’ll go in front of the cameras to tell the journalists and your adoring public that you’re fine. If you don’t, there are some very unpleasant ways I can make your very existence miserable!” 

John lifted his chin high in defiance but didn’t respond. The man must be deluded if he thought that John would go along with any of that.  

When he didn’t reply, Douglas turned and knocked on the door. It was opened by the guards outside. Before he shut and locked the door, the guide had a parting shot. 

“Fitzhugh wants to parade you around to the other Alpha Primes and unbonded alphas tonight and tomorrow.  Enjoy.”  His smile was rather ugly as he left. 

Fuck _._ That could screw up their time table. He sighed and rubbed his forehead. Well, he could be spontaneous if necessary. If he had to break out by himself he would do so. 

Picking up a hot compress, he applied it to his shoulder and other painful bruises and spent the rest of the afternoon alternating hot and cold until he ran out of them. Dinner was brought in around 6pm but he ignored it. 

Waiting was difficult. He was anxious and butterflies in his stomach made him feel nauseated. Sherlock’s plan might be his only chance to break out. If they were unsuccessful this time, they might not get another chance. He still couldn’t believe how much relative freedom he had at the moment. It wasn’t that these idiots trusted him; it was more that they had no clue as to what he was capable of doing.  It wasn’t something that he especially wanted them finding out too soon.  

Regardless, they’d never be able to keep him without literally chaining him naked to a wall somewhere and from what he’d seen of some of these people, he wouldn’t put it past them to do such a thing if it meant keeping him under their control.  That was something he would never allow. What he’d told Sherlock was true. He’d never permit anyone else to touch him and he’d escape or die trying.  

His nervousness ratcheted up as time passed. Pacing the small room helped somewhat but it wasn’t doing his shoulder much good. The compresses had done their job of reducing the swelling but the stress was causing the muscles to cramp. 

When he could no longer stand the tension, he turned the water on in the tiny sink and rang Sherlock again.  The battery was almost gone. This would be the last call he would be able to make and hoped he could reach the detective. The phone rang until it switched to answerphone. His heart sank but just hearing Sherlock’s recorded voice calmed and centred him.  He left Sherlock a brief message telling him what Douglas had said and signed off just as the battery died.  Lying back on the bed, he wished he could ring back just to hear Sherlock’s voice again.  He certainly had it bad for the alpha sentinel and it thrilled him to know Sherlock felt the same. 

Based on what he’d learnt from Forrester, he had a good idea of what to expect as a new guide.  But as an omega, he was less sure. Again, technically he knew what would happen and that he had to be in heat for the alpha/omega bonding to take place. That certainly wouldn’t be a problem.  He could feel his body getting ready for the heat.  He shivered thinking about bonding with Sherlock and his thoughts awakened a pleasant pulsing in his lower abdomen that he identified as arousal. 

Resting his hand on his stomach, he thought about all the new feelings he’d experienced in his association with Sherlock. Idly, he wondered what life would be like with Sherlock once they’d bonded as both sentinel and guide, alpha and omega.  

Thinking of mating with Sherlock made him wonder if the detective wanted children. It was a good question. Their current lifestyle was not conducive to child-raising. There would have to be some major changes but he was willing to compromise. Whether Sherlock would be willing to do the same was another matter.  

And did he himself want children? Thinking about it now, with Sherlock as the father, he was certain he wanted as many children as he could possibly have in the time he had left. Their children would be amazing and brilliant, he was certain of it.  The idea of raising them was incredibly attractive to him. Long hours and lack of sleep were nothing new to him and he relished the challenge. Because raising any child of Sherlock’s was going to be a major challenge, no matter how one looked at it. 

This new attitude was a complete 180 from his previous desires but he decided it was fine to have changed his mind. Becoming involved with someone like Sherlock was not something he’d ever imagined possible.  Who could ever dream up anyone like Sherlock anyway? The detective was a force of nature and John had been gleefully swept up in the tempest.  Smiling to himself, John knew he would be content, whatever happened. 

Around half eight, the door clicked open again and John sat up. Were they here to take him to be paraded around, like Douglas had said? Or was there something else going on?  He groaned and put his head in his hands when he saw the guards come in with Fitzhugh.  Didn’t that man have something else to do?  

The Alpha Prime was wearing what appeared to be a dress uniform. It was fancier than the usual black outfit, anyway.  

“Hello, John. I’d like to talk with you a moment before I go up to meet with the other alphas.”  Like Douglas, Fitzhugh sent the guards out of the room.  John decided to ignore him. 

“So, how are you settling in, hmm?” The sentinel walked over to the bed where John was seated. The doctor looked up at him with an expression of disbelief but didn’t answer. 

Fitzhugh smirked at him. “I just wanted you to know I’ll be bringing you up to meet the other alphas later tonight. They are the Alpha Primes and unbonded alpha sentinels that represent many of the Towers in the country. The rest will be coming in tomorrow. They want to assess you before the Tournament. You’re going to behave yourself and not embarrass me, right?”  John huffed an incredulous laugh and looked away. 

Before John could prevent it, Fitzhugh had grabbed him by the back of his neck and squeezed hard.  To his horror, John’s body responded by sliding from the bed and kneeling in front of the alpha.  What the bloody hell was happening?  He felt like he’d run into an electrified wire.  The grip on the back of his neck was keeping him immobile. Was this some kind of alpha thing?  He was helpless in Fitzhugh’s grip. 

“Let go of me!”  John tried with all his might to pull away but his body was frozen. 

Fitzhugh bent over and spoke quietly in his ear.  “You _will_ behave yourself when I bring you upstairs.  You will be respectful and quiet. Otherwise I will make you sorry you were ever born.” 

“Like hell! Let go, you bloody tosser!” Instead of letting him go, Fitzhugh tightened his grip even more and shook him like a terrier with a rat.  It hurt like hell but John bent his head and held on, resisting with everything he had.  The hard grip on his neck seemed to be what was making his body involuntarily obey Fitzhugh.  All he could think was that this was some kind of alpha/omega control thing he’d never heard of before.  

Then it came to him.  Fitzhugh must be using his alpha pheromones combined with the grip on John’s neck to control the doctor’s behaviour.  He’d only seen it done once before and that was with Sherlock.  Sherlock rarely exerted his alpha scent to control anyone. His normal, annoyingly forceful personality usually had a steamroller effect without the addition of his alpha advantage.  

John could only remember him using it one time and that was to control the beta murderer that had threatened John.  Sherlock knew John could take care of himself, but he had always been just as protective of John as the doctor was of him.  It had been an awe-inspiring sight to see the beta practically throw himself on the ground to avoid Sherlock’s wrath. At the time, it was all John could do not to obey Sherlock as well and he had had some warning of what was happening.  And Sherlock had used a similar grip on the neck to frog-march the murderer to Lestrade.  John felt a lot like that beta had right now and it scared him. 

The powerful pheromones combined with the hold on his neck somehow allowed Fitzhugh complete control of him.  He was being held at the base of his neck where an alpha would bite during mating and bonding. It obviously had some kind of instinctive significance to his body, enabling someone to direct him.  He hated it and resisted with all his might. His heart was pounding and he was close to panic but he refused to give Fitzhugh the satisfaction of admitting his fear aloud.  
  
However, the man was a sentinel and could hear how fast John’s heartbeat and respiration were. Fitzhugh laughed at his struggles and pulled the doctor close to his body.  John managed to raise his manacled hands but all he could do was push ineffectively against the man. Knowing exactly what was going on gave him back a small amount of control, but it made little difference. 

The sentinel continued. “So what are you going to do tonight?”  When John didn’t answer, Fitzhugh shook him again.  “What did I say you’ll do?” 

“Behave.” John muttered.  He was shaken again, even harder, his body hitting the sentinel’s leg. The man’s groin was so close and at a perfect height for him to punch, but he couldn’t make himself do it.  The grip on his neck was cruel and hard. There would certainly be more bruises there tomorrow. 

“I’ll behave!”  This time he spoke clearly and loud enough for his words to ring throughout the room. He couldn’t help shaking with humiliation. 

“Good boy.”  Running the fingers of his other hand across John’s cheek and down to his mouth, the sentinel pressed hard on the injured lip for a second.  His smile was ugly when he finally let go and stepped back.

”See that you do, omega. I know how to control you and I won’t hesitate to do so.  We’ll be starting the Tournament soon. You’re almost in heat and we should be finished by the time you’re well into it. Perfect timing for me. I intend to win.” The man’s voice dropped low. “And when I do, I’ll fuck you raw and you’ll be screaming for more.”  

John couldn’t help a shudder of revulsion but kept his eyes down and tried to control his breathing.  Did Fitzhugh think this was arousing sex-talk between omegas and alphas?  If Sherlock has said those words, it would be different, but with Fitzhugh he was repulsed. 

John could finally move again but didn’t dare to do so after what he’d just experienced. It was all he could do to hide his shaking hands. Cutting his eyes over at the sentinel, he just caught the supercilious, smug grin as he knocked on the door.  When it was opened, he looked back at John but addressed the guard.

”Make sure you cuff his hands behind his back before you bring him up to the meeting room.  It will discourage him from misbehaving.” With that, he left the room.

John sat down hard on the floor with his back to the bed, rested his elbows on his knees and put his head in his hands.  He was shaking and it felt like he was in shock. The new bruises on his neck throbbed and ached. Nothing had prepared him to be manhandled like that and once again, he cursed his stupidly deliberate ignorance of not only guide lore but what it meant to be an omega.  

He’d never heard of controlling an omega like this and wondered if it was common knowledge or something only a cruel person like Fitzhugh would make his business to know.  Sherlock would never treat him like that, he knew for a fact.  John would remember this method of control and avoid it in future, if at all possible.  Knowing what was going on had helped somewhat, but he’d been under Fitzhugh’s control completely before he was even aware of what was going on. If he knew what was coming, maybe he could arm himself against it.  He really hoped he’d not have to ever find out. 

Crawling back up on the bed, he tried to relax and rest himself for what was coming later that evening.  It was around 10pm when they came for him.  Rubbing his eyes as he sat up on the bed, John was glad he’d been able to get some rest before having to face whatever was in store for him. He had a feeling he’d need it. 

The guards made him remove his sling and then cuffed his hands behind him. His shoulder protested somewhat but the compresses had helped reduce the inflammation so it wasn’t as painful as he’d expected.  Before the guards had arrived, John had palmed a key to the cuffs, so he could be ready in case he had a chance to escape. 

John didn’t really expect any trouble and planned to behave himself as best he could so they would get bored of him and send him back to the room in time for his rendezvous with Sherlock.  But again, he wanted to be able to act spontaneously if necessary. It was something he’d always excelled at and it was part of why he and Sherlock worked so well together. 

The guards surrounded him and took him back to the lifts. The Tower was six storeys high and the lift stopped at the top.    As they exited the lifts, they headed toward the newer part of the Tower, but it was difficult to tell because the walls were stone blocks decorated with weapons and shields, some appearing to be at least a thousand years old. Everything looked so much like a medieval castle that John was half expecting there to be fire lit braziers and torches lighting their way.  

They reached another similarly decorated hallway that ran perpendicular to the one they came from. Glass doors leading to large, well lit balconies were at both ends of this hall. Discreet doorways to two more hallways that no doubt led further into the building flanked either the balcony entrances.  

In the centre of the hallway was a large double doorway guarded by two Protectors in full gear, helmets with faceplates down. One of John’s guards approached one of the Protectors and spoke in low tones.  The man nodded and opened one side of the door and quickly entered, closing it firmly behind him.  

While they waited, John noted the types of weapons hanging from the walls and how they were attached. Most seemed to be medieval in origin or realistic facsimiles and consisted of spears, swords, maces, crossbows and shields. From what he could tell, they were attached to screws in the walls by clear microfilaments. It was a museum-approved method of display but what it meant for John was that they were easy to remove from the wall with minimal effort.   

The door opened and the guard returned to gesture them into a long foyer with doors on both sides. At the end of the hall, there were two more large doors that were propped open to reveal the huge room beyond.  

As they entered, John had never seen so many alphas in one place before.  The room was swimming in alpha pheromones and his knees nearly buckled as he was hit with the smell. His body wanted to submit to them but he locked his knees and kept still. 

Once again, not being in complete control of his body was foreign to him and he didn’t like it one bit.  He forced himself to focus and tried to ignore the pheromones effect on him.  It was difficult but not impossible. Knowing exactly what was affecting him did help and maybe the longer he was exposed, the more accustomed he might become. The dizziness he was experiencing began to grow less and he was hopeful that he might get through this unscathed. 

His guards had paused just inside the door, waiting for orders. They were somewhat hidden by the entranceway leading into the space beyond. John took the opportunity to examine the room. It was very large rectangular space and looked like an auditorium or meeting room that was the almost the entire width of the building. There was only one other door and it was at the far end of the room.  John supposed the hallways ran along either side and connected to the door at the back for safety’s sake. 

Flags and banners, shields and weapons adorned the walls. John made a face at the ancient stuffed animal heads that encircled the hall, close to the very high ceiling. There must have been hundreds of them and were probably collected over many centuries. At least everything appeared to be well kept and clean.  

Steeling himself, John examined the inhabitants of the room. There were about fifty men and women seated at various tables, clearly just finishing a meal.  Half of the people seemed to be older, male bonded sentinels. The rest were younger, unbonded men and women who were sitting together and somewhat apart from the older men.  Many of them were dressed in their Tower uniforms but there were some that were wearing military uniforms from the various Sentinel Units.  There certainly didn’t seem to be any guides present but John wasn’t really surprised.  This evening seemed to be about the alpha sentinels. 

They were listening to someone John couldn’t see on a dais that was off to one side of the door.  The words spoken didn’t carry in the foyer they were standing in, but John recognized Fitzhugh’s voice haranguing the group. The end of his speech had the older half of the alphas cheering but the other younger half were simply clapping politely or not clapping at all. There seemed to be some disagreement about something. 

John tested the emotional atmosphere and discovered there was anger and considerable frustration underneath the surface of congeniality. This was interesting and he wondered what was provoking them. 

One of the guards must have received some kind of signal because someone behind John pushed him forward hard. He was off balance and nearly fell, but righted himself at the cost of a wrench to his shoulder.  It seemed to be a deliberate attempt to embarrass or humiliate him as the first sight the crowd had of him was of him staggering and being pushed forward.  He gritted his teeth and bore the degradation with his head high. 

The Alpha Prime’s words became clear as John was led forward.  “…so to reassure you, I felt you should have the opportunity to view the omega guide you will be competing for in the next few days. As you can see, he’s perfectly fine, despite all your worries to the contrary.”  Fitzhugh’s voice was full of false sincerity and overly jovial.   John was dragged over to the man, who gave him a fake smile. 

“Well, there you are, John.  Everyone, this is John Watson, the first omega guide we’ve had here for almost twenty years.” The response from the crowd was underwhelming. Fitzhugh gave them a false smile and then reached toward John with his right hand to grab the back of his neck like he had done earlier that evening. Without thinking, John ducked and tried to evade him and Fitzhugh’s fingers sank deep into John’s bad shoulder instead.  The doctor couldn’t contain his cry of anguish at the sharp pain and he pulled away with all his strength.  The only thing keeping him upright were the two Protectors hanging onto his arms. 

At once, all the young sentinels were on their feet and yelling in protest at what Fitzhugh had just done. John tried to stand up straight as his shoulder throbbed in agony.  The sentinel had grabbed the area right over the bullet entrance wound that was already badly bruised and John was still seeing stars. 

As he stood on the dais trying to focus, the doctor had a good view as half the audience stood up and began to berate the Alpha Prime.  As the intensity of the arguing grew, all of the guards near John moved forward to surround Fitzhugh and stopped paying any attention to him.

He backed away from the podium and ended up near the wall beside some chairs. Listening to the other sentinels as they objected to his treatment, John began to unlock the cuffs. He was rather heartened by what they were saying. 

A young woman yelled at Fitzhugh, “How can you treat him like this? What kind of sentinel are you?” 

“We need to _court_ guides these days not capture them! Why can’t we have bonding parties like we used to do instead of a Tournament?   Your methods of dealing with guides are simply barbaric! This whole idea of a Tournament is antiquated! How are any of us going to get guides if you insist on treating them like prisoners?”  The voices all blended together with Fitzhugh trying to shout over all of them and no one was being heard.  Most of the older sentinels had joined in on Fitzhugh’s side from what he could tell.  

John was nearly out of his cuffs and had begun to move closer to the doors when one young man wearing an Army uniform out shouted the rest. Everyone finally quietened down once he started to speak. 

“I for one don’t agree with this new legislation London Tower is supporting in Parliament.  I don’t want a guide that is unwilling or unhappy to be with me. I want a guide that has the calling to be one.  I can’t imagine bonding with someone who was torn away from their family or home by this new law if it passes. It’s no better than slavery!”  

All the young sentinels spoke up in agreement, creating enough noise to drown out the older sentinels, some of whom looked a bit sheepish. It was apparent some of them didn’t agree particularly with this new proposed law, either.  

One of the older sentinels spoke up.  “This is our tradition. We take and the guides give. That is how it’s always been and you should respect it!”  
  
The young soldier disagreed.  “It doesn’t have to be that way.  A guide should be an equal partner instead of kept away from our work. They should have opportunities for education and careers instead of being kept ignorant in our shadows. It’s not right and it’s not fair! This is the twenty first century, for gods’ sake!” Again there was total agreement from the younger ones but some derision from the older.  
  
A bearded sentinel spoke up.  ”Guides are naturally weak and they aren’t as intelligent as sentinels! We have to protect them. They can’t protect us and can only do certain things. And omega guides need to be protected even more than other guides.” 

The soldier turned on that sentinel and laughed derisively. “It’s that kind of thinking that makes people think we’re all monsters.” Gesturing to John, who had made it almost to the doors, to all appearances still shackled, the soldier said, “Our omega guide here is a decorated war veteran with at least 6 tours of duty in Afghanistan.  He is a doctor, was a Captain in the RAMC as well as a field surgeon.  I know for a fact that he has saved hundred of our brave soldier’s lives. Have you learnt nothing about him?  He’s seen more war and death and faced more actual combat than any of you combined.  You should be on your knees to him, thanking him for his service, not keeping him shackled like a prisoner!  I would be honoured to bond with him. But it’s clear he doesn’t want to be here.”  Voices joined him in agreement and he shouted above them, “All guides should be allowed to choose their own sentinels!”  
  
At that, the older sentinels were on their feet and the arguing got really intense.  Fitzhugh was yelling at some of the young sentinels when John heard a woman’s voice over the others. 

“Don’t you think you’ve done enough of that, Fitzhugh? If this is the way you treat guides, it’s no damn wonder Clarissa divorced you!” 

It was obviously a rather touchy subject because Fitzhugh seemed to lose it at that point. He threw himself at the female sentinel, who seemed more than willing to take him on. All of John’s guards deserted him at that point and the doctor took the opportunity to edge even further toward the doors. 

Unfortunately, the alpha pheromones levels were increasing throughout the room.  John started to giggle. Stupid alphas were trying to out-alpha each other.  He wondered if he could get drunk on alpha pheromones because it was definitely not a good time to laugh but it seemed oddly appropriate for the situation. 

All the sentinels were on their feet at this point. Some were trying to calm the situation and the other half were still screaming at each other. Fitzhugh and the female sentinel were struggling with the ones who were holding them back from fighting. The guards, who were all betas, didn’t seem to know what to do and had backed off and away from the arguing alphas, clearly intimidated by them. They still weren’t paying any attention to John. 

The doctor watched in fascination as Fitzhugh was restrained by some of the older sentinels. The woman had given him a fat lip and he was bleeding from his nose, John was pleased to note.  So Fitzhugh’s guide hadn’t died but had divorced him. From what he’d heard, divorce between a sentinel and guide was almost unheard of because of the danger to the life of the guide.  

John could completely understand why she might be willing to risk death to be away from this idiot. He was obviously abusive and would continue to be so to whoever was to be his next guide.  And from what Fitzhugh had said, he was planning on fighting in the Tournament for John. The doctor shivered at the thought of belonging to that man and having to bear his children.  It would literally be a fate worse than death.

Since everyone seemed completely distracted by the argument, John continued to creep away from the guards, who didn’t even seem to notice. Taking shallow breaths, he walked backwards, bit by bit, getting further and further away from the yelling sentinels and frightened guards.  

He had managed to get to the area by the doors and was getting ready to slip through them when his empathy, without conscious direction from him, reached out and let him know there was someone standing just behind him. John had not realized he was there and his heart began to race with startlement. But the man hadn’t read as dangerous to him! 

Quickly, he turned, shocked speechless, to look up at the man.  Tall and slim, he seemed just like the rest of the anonymous Protectors. He had a helmet with the face shield down and had apparently just entered the second set of doors. He also seemed shocked to see John as well.  The man reached up and took off the helmet, dark curls flying free and wild.

”Sherlock!” John threw himself into his sentinel’s arms and was taken into a brief but very fierce embrace. Strength poured into him at Sherlock’s touch and his scent seemed to neutralise the over abundance of alpha pheromones in the room. 

“We don’t have much time! We need to go before they notice you’re gone.”  Pulling open one of the doors to the foyer, he pushed John out. There was no lock on the door so they turned to dash toward the other set of doors when they ran directly into Douglas.  

The Prime Guide stood in the middle of the hallway with his arms crossed. He’d apparently just come out from one of the rooms in the hall.  Douglas looked at John and then stared at Sherlock, giving him the once over. He raised an eyebrow and addressed John. 

“Well. Now I understand why you fought so hard to stay free. This is your sentinel. Your emotional signatures are very similar and you seem to have formed a bond of sorts already.” He narrowed his eyes and seemed to go elsewhere for a moment and his voice became remote. “Yes, you are bonded in the spirit world as you must bond in this world. Your bonding was meant to be, in this life and the next.”

John raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Thank you, I think,” he responded. 

Douglas spoke again as if he hadn’t heard John. He seemed to be almost in a trance. “Be aware that there will be major changes here soon.  Once you are bonded, as alpha and omega, as sentinel and guide, you are both welcome here if you wish. You both have much to learn.” He seemed to come back to himself suddenly. 

“You will always have a friend in me.” He looked up as noise from the meeting room became impossibly louder. “You need to go now. I won’t stop you.”   
  
Sherlock and John looked at each other, dumbfounded as Douglas stepped aside.  They didn’t question, but ran past him, down the short hall and through the double doors at the end. John nearly tripped over two unconscious Protectors and turned to face Sherlock. 

“Help me, John!”  Sherlock pulled a spear from the wall and jammed it into the handles of the doors.  “This won’t keep them from using the back doors to escape, but it’ll take them some time to realise this door is blocked.”  

John pulled some swords and more spears down and handed them to Sherlock, who continued to shove them into the door handles until no more would fit.  Shouts, curses and pounding could be heard at the door now. It reminded John of a bad slapstick comedy. They looked at each other and started giggling.   
  
Sherlock took John’s hand and turning as one, they raced down the corridor toward one of the balconies.  Panting, they threw open the doors and raced onto the patio area.  Sherlock led him sharply to the left where there were two abseiling harnesses waiting for them and climbing rope was tied to the very sturdy metal railing of the balcony.  

“I was able to get into the Tower easily enough with one of the entourages earlier this evening, but security is incredibly tight right now because of all the VIPs here.  Since I had time, I raided their weapons room and found these. I’m assuming you know how to use these?”  
  
”Very stupid question, Sherlock.” John was already halfway into his harness. Checking the ropes as he finished with the harness and making sure both of them were hooked up properly, he turned to Sherlock and smirked. “Ready when you are.” 

Sherlock craned his neck to look around the corner. “They’ve made it out of the room and are coming up the halls.” Grinning like a maniac, he hoisted himself over the rail, gripping the rope. John joined him immediately. Looking at each other, they laughed and simultaneously dropped.   
  
Abseiling six storeys was exhilarating.  The drop was very controlled and they made it down in seconds.  It took another fifteen seconds to shed the harnesses and they were off, running across the beautifully landscaped lawn surrounding the Tower. 

John quickly glanced back but saw nothing from the balcony.  Reaching the stone wall surrounding the property both scaled it with impressive speed.  John’s shoulder protested but not as much as he had expected. 

Once they were over the wall, they sprinted down the pavement, sticking to the shadows as much as possible. About five streets away, they paused in the mouth of an alleyway to breathe and listen. John was ecstatic and his blood was racing with adrenaline. He couldn’t believe how simple that had been! It was almost too good to be true and he had to know if they were being pursued.  
  
“Do you hear anything Sherlock?” He strained to listen but knew it was useless.  Sherlock stood a much better chance to discover if they were being followed.  

Sherlock caught his breath and replied, “If you’ll watch over me, I’ll try to extend my senses to see if there’s anything.” 

Quickly agreeing, John put his hands on the sentinel’s arms and then ran them down to take both hands. He squeezed them briefly and indicated his willingness to begin. 

Sherlock shut his eyes and concentrated.  John knew he rarely tried to extend his senses so far. Not only because it was dangerous without a guide, but his abilities were normally so far superior to most sentinels he didn’t need to do so.  Until they were bonded, it was still dangerous for him to do this, but John was confident he could pull Sherlock out of any zone.  He’d done it once before, after all. 

Recalling what he’d learnt by watching Forrester and Henderson interact, John moved closer, tucked his head under Sherlock’s chin and used his voice, scent and touch to ground Sherlock. The sentinel buried his nose in John’s hair, let go of his hands and wrapped his arms around him. 

Once again, John envisioned his empathy surrounding and encompassing them protectively. Instincts taking over, John found himself falling into a strange state of mind and his voice took on a deep, compelling tone that was unfamiliar to him. 

“Focus on your hearing and mute down your other senses. Try to tune out all the noises from the traffic and the night. Listen only for human sounds from within the Tower. Tell me what you’re hearing.” 

A line formed between Sherlock’s eyebrows as he frowned in concentration. His breathing deepened and he pulled John closer. 

“I don’t… wait. I hear many raised voices from the upper floors.” He was still for a moment, and then continued. “No one remembers when or how you disappeared. They don’t know where you’ve gone and think you’re alone, hiding in the Tower.” Sherlock paused again and John marvelled at how far his sentinel could hear and be able to actually discern discreet conversations.  

“There are orders being given to search the upper levels and stairwells. Calls are being made to Security on the lower levels to see if anyone has left the building but they’re reporting no one has been seen. No one has found the ropes we used, yet.”  Sherlock opened his eyes and grinned. ”It might even be morning before anyone sees them. I think we’re in the clear.”   

John couldn’t help returning the grin and then embraced Sherlock with all his strength. “Thank you for coming for me. When I couldn’t reach you I was afraid we’d miss each other. I wasn’t able to ring you back because the mobile battery died.” 

Sherlock returned the hug and kissed John on the temple and cheek. “I told you I’d never leave you in that place. You’re mine and I protect what’s mine.”  

Something inside John responded strongly to that statement and replied, “I’m yours. Only yours, Sherlock. No one will ever touch me but you.”  Sherlock’s response was a deep growl and a tightening of his embrace.

They stood that way for a few moments, and then broke apart as both noticed bright search lights come on at the front entrance of the Tower, far down the street.  Sherlock sighed. “Time to go. This way.”


	4. Chapter 4

A few streets further down, Sherlock hailed a cab. Sherlock gave the address as he got in and pulled John close to him with an arm around his shoulders.  
  
John was astonished. ”We’re going home? Aren’t they watching?”

”All that was stopped as soon as you were caught. They don’t have enough personnel to keep up an indefinite stakeout. I want to be on my own territory when we bond.”  
  
John wasn’t so sure. “Won’t they look for me there, though? They’ve got a warrant. Legally, they could come in at any time and it won’t take them long to look for me there.”  
  
”You have a good point.” Sherlock thought for a moment and then brightened. “I’ve got an idea. But let’s go home and pack first.”

Arriving at Baker Street, they quickly made it inside and locked the door. Before they could make it up the stairs, Mrs Hudson came out of her flat. When she saw John, she cried out and ran to him, throwing her arms around him and hugging him tightly.  John briefly returned the hug, kissed her cheek and smiled at her

She patted his cheeks with affection.  “You poor thing, just look at what they’ve done to you! Dear John, I was so afraid I’d never see you again. And Sherlock was just frantic when he realised what had happened to you and that his phone had been used to try to capture you.  That brother of yours, Sherlock…”

The detective interrupted her.  ”I know, but we don’t have much time, Mrs Hudson.  We need to pack some things and then we have to leave.  I’ll be sure to let you know where we’re going and when we arrive there safely.”

 “Yes, yes of course.  Is there anything I can do?  I’ve got a casserole that I can heat up and I could make some tea?”  Sherlock had already run up the stairs and John made to follow but turned. He checked the time and was surprised to see it was just after midnight.

”That would be lovely, Mrs Hudson. I’ve not eaten anything since early yesterday morning.”

 “I’ll be right up as soon as I can. You go pack.” With that she went back into her flat and closed the door.

John bounded up the stairs to see Sherlock coming out of his room. He’d already changed from the Protector’s uniform and was in one of his immaculate suits.  
  
”Do you think I’ve got time for a shower? It’s been a few days since I was able to wash properly.” Sherlock checked the time also and nodded.  
  
”That shouldn’t be a problem but I’ll start packing for you. It will save time.”

They made their way up to the bedroom. John changed out of his clothes and headed for the bathroom while Sherlock rifled through his cupboard and dresser for his suitcase and clothes.  John showered in record time and collected his sponge bag from the bath and loaded it with necessities.  He threw the bag to Sherlock as he re-entered the room and Sherlock packed it and closed the suitcase with a loud click.  If he noticed John’s injuries, thankfully he didn’t mention them. John was nearly dressed when they heard Mrs Hudson downstairs.  

“Dinner’s ready! Come down and eat before you go.” Both men clattered down the stairs. Sherlock took the suitcase with him and set it by the door next to his. John wondered if he’d even had the chance to unpack from his trip to Canada yet. 

Everyone sat down to a delicious, if hurried meal provided by Mrs Hudson.  Their landlady thankfully asked no questions. While they ate, Sherlock called a cab to collect them.

“We’ve got approximately ten minutes.  Let’s carry these cases down now.”

  
”Don’t worry about the dishes, luvs. I’ll take care of things.”  
  
After hugging Mrs Hudson, John found an older coat to wear and both headed downstairs to wait for the cab. Locking the door behind them, John wondered where they were going.  As usual, Sherlock read his mind.

  
”We’ll be driving to the train station at Folkestone. Then we’ll take the Eurotunnel Shuttle to Calais.”

John was confused. “Wait, we don’t have a car. Or do we?” 

“We do. I had Angelo obtain it for us earlier and take it to a car park downtown.”

John was stunned. Not only did Sherlock have a car but he had essentially said it belonged to them both.  
  
”Why are you surprised? Do you not agree that we will need a car once we start a family?  This was the ideal time to obtain one. Angelo said he could get us a deal, after all.” Sherlock was smiling.  
  
John gaped for a moment. Family? They’d not even discussed it yet! He’d hoped they’d have children eventually, but how had Sherlock known that?  Probably like he’d known everything else—he’d deduced it.  John just shook his head and smiled back at his alpha.

The taxi took them to a downtown car park and let them off in front. The adrenaline rush had begun to wear off and John groaned and stretched stiffly as he got out of the cab.  He loosened up some as they walked into the car park. Sherlock, for once, was carrying their luggage.

He felt Sherlock’s physical warmth and emotional concern beside him as they walked further into the interior of the building. It was incredible to actually be able to know how Sherlock truly felt about him. It hurt his lip but he couldn’t hold back a grin as he walked, soaking in the feelings of love and caring that he was getting from Sherlock. He hoped that the detective would be able to feel the same from him, soon, once they’d bonded.

He had been told they’d be able to know each other’s thoughts and feel each other’s pain. Sometimes he wondered if that would be a good thing or a distraction. If he could use it to help deal with Sherlock’s black moods, he’d be forever grateful.

Despite the lateness of the hour, the car park was busy.  There must have been a local function downtown just letting out because there were many people walking on the street and many were entering the car park. 

Without warning, adrenaline suddenly flooded his system. John became very alert and couldn’t stop himself from scanning every person he saw for danger. All were what they seemed to be but John was still not assured.  His heart was pounding, he felt breathless and realised he was on the verge of a panic attack. 

Suddenly, Sherlock was motioning him into a dark corner and put down the bags.   He turned to John with a worried expression and reached up with both hands to loosely cup the doctor’s face. Gently Sherlock ran a finger over the cut on John’s lip and caressed his face. John’s panic was diverted as he watched the expressions of worry, concern and love cross Sherlock’s features as his graceful fingers soothingly traced over the cuts, bruises and abrasions.  John shivered at the soft touches and closed his eyes.

His panic receded .It was so nice to be fussed over and know someone cared what happened to him. He was so tired of being pursued and worrying about the Tower. He just wanted to be safe and to be with Sherlock some place where he didn’t need to be bothered about anything. John put his hands on Sherlock’s hips and tilted his face up, closing his eyes. 

He felt as if he were being treated like fine china as his alpha tenderly and gently kissed his forehead, eyes and then lips. John relaxed into the incredible warmth and comfort he felt from the detective and knew he was at home for the first time in what seemed like years.

Sherlock just gathered him in and buried his face in John’s hair, breathing in the doctor’s scent. John laid his head on his future bond mate’s shoulder and slipped his arms around the detective’s slim waist.  They just needed a moment of peace before they had to start running again. Sherlock tightened his embrace.  The doctor didn’t care that it hurt his bruises; he basked in Sherlock’s love and comfort for as long as he could. 

Sherlock kissed his temple and whispered in his ear.  “None of these people want to hurt us. There’s no need to worry. I’ll take care of you. Relax. You don’t need to be alert right now. I can feel your fear.”

John pulled back and looked at Sherlock in shock.  “You could tell how I was feeling? That’s incredible, Sherlock!”

“Yes, I could tell.” Sherlock looked a bit confused. “John, I know this sounds strange, but it seemed I could feel your panic—I didn’t deduce it, I could _feel_ it.” Sherlock looked down at John in consternation.  “How can I do that? That’s something that bonded couples can do and we’re not bonded yet. I don’t understand.”

John nodded. “I think I do understand. I’ve been picking up emotions from you since right before you left. When I pulled you out of that zone and led you from the spirit world, I think we established a strong connection. It’s not a complete bond yet but it’s close.” John didn’t want to admit this but decided it was important. “I don’t want you to take this the wrong way, but when you left me to go to Canada, it felt like I’d had my heart torn out.”

Sherlock looked miserable and his cheeks flushed. “I… I felt the same.  It was…horrible… being away from you. But being separated from you made me realise how important you are to me.  I know that sounds ridiculous, but that’s how it felt.”  John couldn’t help but smile up at his alpha, his sentinel and then gently embraced him. “I’m yours. Always. I’ll never leave your side unless you send me away.”

Sherlock relaxed into the embrace. “And that will never happen. Thank you. You always seem to know exactly what I need.” 

They broke apart and headed for the lifts. Their shoulders brushed as they walked and John took great comfort in it. They reached the centre of the car park where the lifts were located and waited for one to arrive.  A very well dressed alpha was also waiting.  He sniffed the air, then turned and smiled at John in a very friendly manner.  John nodded back but Sherlock literally growled and moved to put himself between the man and John.   
  
”My apologies. I meant no harm, alpha. The omega is yours.”  The man kept his eyes down and backed away, heading for the stairs instead of waiting for the lift.  John raised an eyebrow at Sherlock whose expression was hard and unyielding.  
  
”If I have to explain that, John, I’ll be very disappointed in you.”  John just shook his head and chuckled.

The lift let them out on the lowest level of the car park and John looked around. There were very few cars down there and Sherlock was heading for a gorgeous Mercedes saloon parked off in a dark corner. Elegant and beautiful, black with dark tinted windows, it reminded him of Sherlock.  He trotted to keep up with Sherlock’s long legs.

“Is this the car Angelo got for you?  Christ! That’s an S class! It must have cost at least £70,000!”

“Closer to £80,000 but we can talk about that later.” The car beeped as he pressed the keyless entry. The boot popped open and Sherlock put the bags inside.

“Just a moment, John. I need you to put this on before we go.” Sherlock opened his case and presented a bottle to John.

“ _True Beta_ cologne? Why do you have this?”

Sherlock wrapped an arm around his waist, pulled him close and whispered in his ear, “I sometimes use it to disguise my alpha scent when I’m on a case. I give it to you because you smell too much like a very fuckable, unbonded omega right now, John. We’re heading for a busy train station, so please put some on before we go any further.”

He involuntarily gasped as a shiver went up his spine at the decadent, deep tones of Sherlock’s voice in his ears and he felt a hot flush of arousal. Confused and embarrassed at his reaction to Sherlock’s unprecedented crude language and possessive behaviour, John quickly splashed a generous amount on himself and put the bottle into his pocket.

Sherlock inhaled and relaxed a bit. “I don’t want you drawing attention to yourself and it was making me rather tense.” 

John recalled Sherlock’s reaction to the other alpha at the lift. “Good idea. I’m not used to smelling like an omega and I had no idea how strong my scent was becoming. Thanks Sherlock.” He got no reply as the detective got into the driver’s side and started up the car.

Sliding into the front passenger side seat, John ran his hand over the black leather of the seats and inhaled the new car smell as he buckled himself in.  It was delicious and he was bursting with curiosity as to how Sherlock could afford a car like this. Unless it had been a five-finger discount?

”Angelo was once a burglar, but he was never a car thief,” his flatmate said wryly.  John laughed.  Once again, Sherlock had read his mind.  “I used a small amount of money from my trust fund for this.  You can relax.”

Once more, John was shocked. How much money did Sherlock have? “Oh. A _small_ amount.  Of your trust fund. I though you didn’t….”

Sherlock interrupted.  ”We’ll talk later, John.”

The car floated out of the car park, nearly silent. John couldn’t remember ever riding in anything so luxurious in his life.  He’d come from solidly middle class roots and had never thought about being able to touch something like this let alone ride in it.  He was going to enjoy this tremendously.   Unfortunately, he fell asleep after they left LondonCity limits and slept until they stopped in Folkestone.

The doctor jerked awake when Sherlock stopped the car about two hours later. The detective parked the vehicle while John slowly got out of the car. He’d stiffened up again while asleep and now his neck hurt on top of everything else. It could have been much worse, though, so he wasn’t going to complain. 

He could be imprisoned in the Tower right now, awaiting a fate worse than death.  That sounded overly dramatic, but being trapped in the Tower for the rest of his life, never being allowed out, would have been a kind of death to someone like himself. He wouldn’t have lasted one month there. It was good to be free and on the path he had chosen to follow.

He actually felt quite wonderful and almost giddy.  Sherlock walked up to him and smiled. “Well, you look quite happy. We can get our tickets and get cleared for customs.  Ready?”  They turned to walk into the station, blending in easily with the rest of the crowd.  The station was rather busy for that time of night.

“That sounds great. I’m very happy, actually. I’m with you and we’re free! And I am starving. I’d like to clean up, though.”

”Excellent idea. Over here.” Sherlock led them toward the gent’s, which was actually quite a nice facility.  Washing his face and looking into the mirror, John could see the bruising coming up on his cheek where he’d been backhanded by Fitzhugh and he had a nice black eye, but otherwise he appeared mostly acceptable, despite the scrapes and cuts.   

Next, they headed for customs and passed through without any trouble.  John’s passport and other important papers had been cleverly hidden in the flat by Sherlock and he had brought them along. They had some time before leaving and decided they both wanted some coffee.  The only thing open was the BarO8.  However, it was surprisingly busy and it looked as if they would have to wait to be seated.

“Please get us a table while I pick up the tickets.” Sherlock strode away to queue up and John started toward the restaurant.  There were no tables at the moment, so he decided to wait beside a phone kiosk, slightly hidden from the rest of the station, but in sight of the restaurant. It was important to him to keep an eye on Sherlock, as well.  John felt uneasy and a bit nervous as soon as they separated.  

It was nice to relax and think about the trip ahead. He wondered where exactly in France Sherlock was going to take him.  Did Sherlock have some relatives there? How long would they be able to stay?  John would eventually need to get back to work, if he still had a job, after what happened with those men in his office. He’d not really thought about the repercussions of that yet.

Also, Sherlock had a couple of cases going, not to mention the case with the disarticulated feet. How pressing were those cases?  Molly probably hadn’t finished the autopsy yet, so if they were back within a week or so, Sherlock could probably pick up the chase then.  The others could probably wait a bit, as well.

Something they really need to talk about was what they were going to do about bonding. How was it going to affect his relationship with his family? John hated the thought that he might be responsible for tearing Sherlock’s family apart. Though from what Mycroft had told him about their parent’s demands, John was certain that Sherlock would never have agreed to stop working as the world’s only consulting sentinel detective and take a government job. It would have destroyed him the same way as being bonded to a stranger and imprisoned in the Tower would have killed John.

Idly scanning the crowd, he thought about the last few days. He wondered if Harry or his mother had seen the videos on the telly and recognised him. Maybe he should call them. No, he’d wait until after he and Sherlock had figured out what they were going to do. 

Suddenly his empathy went on high alert. There was danger in the station!  He shrank back to hide between the telephone boxes and looked about. He couldn’t see anything and glanced over to where Sherlock was standing. The detective had turned around in the queue and was staring at John in concern, having picked up on his alarm.  The doctor motioned surreptitiously to Sherlock to stay where he was. He had an idea he wanted to try. 

Forrester had taught him how empathy could sometimes be used to hide and conceal. It could also be used to misdirect. He’d not thought to use it before now because it took some planning, a lot of concentration and some time to prepare. 

As he watched, two Protectors walked into the train station, obviously looking for him.  They were alert and searching with all their senses.  The station was not as busy as it would be at rush hour, but there were a considerable number of people present. That could work to John’s advantage by keeping the sentinels distracted. 

The two began their search. They didn’t split up but stayed together.  John was actually surprised there were only two, but maybe the Tower was getting a bit too spread out.  They headed for the ticket sales area and forced their way to the front, much to the muttered indignation of those queued already.  They handed a photo to each of the sales people and then began to search the station itself. 

As they headed over to the restaurant, John began to project empathy the way Forrester had taught him. He had seen her do this in the desert when they’d encountered an unexpected enemy patrol and they’d had little cover. She’d explained how she’d done it to him but he’d never tried it yet himself.   Closing his eyes, he envisioned his environment as it would look if he were absent. Once the image was solidified in his head, he opened his eyes and tracked the sentinels.  Christ, he hoped this worked.  He could disable both sentinels but running and hiding after that would be very difficult.

Sherlock had finished at the ticket counter and had seated himself at the restaurant. He paid no attention to John or the sentinels and was currently placing an order.  The Protectors were searching in a pattern and were slowly working their way toward John’s location.  He kept the image he’d created in his head and reinforced his shields as best he could. 

It was much harder to do than he’d expected.  Forrester had said it took a lot out of her, but since he was new to this, he was concerned that he’d lose strength before the Protectors finished their search.  Closing his eyes helped keep him from getting distracted, but it also increased his nervousness because he couldn’t keep track of where the Protectors were in their search. 

Opening his eyes again, he nearly panicked when he saw the Hunters were only ten feet away.  His anxiety ratcheted up and he felt sweat break out on his forehead and trickled down his back.  His energy was being sucked out of him and he was short of breath. How could Forrester do this for an hour or more at a time?  Was it practise or something else? 

She had said he was a stronger guide than she was, so John should be able to do this.  Then he remembered belatedly that Forrester had said this trick was something she did only when she had her sentinel nearby because she could borrow strength from him.  That their bond acted like a battery that she could draw strength from if depleted. He couldn’t believe he’d forgotten that! He almost groaned aloud in despair.

Blindly, he sent out a tendril of empathy toward Sherlock, hoping against hope that he could connect in some way and get the detective to help reinforce his failing strength. 

There was a strange feeling of vertigo and he saw Sherlock sit up as if he’d been poked with something sharp. Strength began to flow into John like food to a starving man. Greatly relieved, he automatically sent all his love and gratitude back to Sherlock for the help and watched as his sentinel blushed. It was lovely and John basked in the sight. 

Forgotten briefly, the Protectors had made it to the area beside the phone boxes. John’s attention snapped back to them.  It was very apparent that they didn’t see him at all. _It was working!_  They passed by without glancing at him once, though one of them stopped briefly and sniffed the air. The Protector then turned to look where John was standing and frowned in confusion.  He walked a bit closer and sniffed again.

Trying to stay calm, John closed his eyes and reinforced the image in his head, wondering how he might eliminate scent this time.  Whatever he did seemed to work because he heard them both walk away. He opened his eyes in time to see them enter the restaurant. 

John kept up the illusion until the Protectors left the building, then let it go with a gasp. Legs trembling, he made his way over to the table with Sherlock and collapsed in the chair. Sherlock’s expression was anxious. “Are you all right, John? I could feel how scared you were.”  An expression of wonder crossed his face as he realised the strangeness of what he’d just said. It was apparent Sherlock wasn’t comfortable talking about these things yet.

Nodding, John wiped his face with a sleeve and sighed in relief. “Are they still here?” 

Sherlock, who still looked worried, lifted his head and listened intently.  “They’re searching the areas around the train platforms.  I think they’ll be leaving soon. They were talking about some other places they needed to search and how short handed they were.” 

John put his head down on the table for a moment and breathed deeply.  “Shit. That was close. Thank goodness we already cleared customs. They have my photo now.” He raised his head to see Sherlock looking at him in awe. 

“What did you do? They walked right by you and never saw you.  That was incredible!”  It was John’s turn to blush and he smiled at the praise.

“Something a friend taught me to do.  And I had to borrow strength from you. I’m sorry I didn’t have the chance to ask permission, first.”

Sherlock’s eyes widened. “So that’s what was happening. What a strange sensation that was! It felt like my energy was being sucked out of me. I was worried at first and then I felt your presence. It was a very odd feeling but now I know what it was, I’m glad I could help you.”  Sherlock had his thinking face on now. “Do you think you could do that for both of us, if we were discovered while doing something for a case?  
  
John snorted. “You mean while we’re breaking and entering?”  Sherlock huffed an amused laugh and nodded.

The doctor thought for a moment. “Maybe, with practice, I could do. Forrester could hide our whole team that way, for as long as an hour, if necessary.  It really wore her and her sentinel out, though.”

”Forrester? I’ve not heard you speak of her before. She was a guide on your team?”  
  
John flushed a bit. He wasn’t really supposed to discuss this, but Sherlock was soon to be his alpha and his sentinel. It made no sense to hide anything from him. And the Officials Secrets Act specifically excluded sentinel/guide interactions. “Yes, she was the guide to our team leader. And she taught me everything she could about being a guide.

“I have to be honest with you, Sherlock. I really don’t know that much about being a guide.  I’ve only been around one guide before in my life and she wasn’t really completely trained, either.”

”We can deal with that later. It seems to me that you’ve been following your instincts and doing quite well.” He smiled at John. “I think you’ll do fine and I can’t imagine ever having anyone other than you to guide me.”

Sherlock looked at John fondly.  “You are always surprising me, you know. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to figure you out.”

”I sure hope that’s good,” John commented as plates of food were placed in front of both of them. A large mug of tea made its way to the table for John and he inhaled it gratefully.

“It is very much good.” Sherlock smirked at him and drank his own tea.

After the scare he’d just had, John was exhausted.  Working with his empathic abilities on top of days of stress, excessive physical activity and erratic meals had worn him down even more. His body getting ready to go into heat was also taking resources he didn’t have and he needed to refuel, even though he’d just had a light meal at Baker Street. Sherlock had ordered a large English breakfast for him and he gratefully tucked in.

Replete, he sat back with a sigh of contentment.  Now if he could have a fortnight to sleep, everything would be perfect.  Sherlock seemed to catch that thought and laughed.

“We’ll have plenty of time to rest soon.   Just a few more hours and we’ll be someplace safe.”

”Care to tell me where we’re going? Not that I mind not knowing, particularly. All that matters is that I’m with you.”  Sherlock looked pleased and a bit embarrassed at that.

“We’re going to my grandmother’s house, outside Giverny. I’ve rung ahead and she’ll have the guest cottage ready for us.” 

Guest cottage?  How large was this house? John didn’t want to speculate but based on what he knew of Sherlock’s family, it was probably huge.  “Isn’t that near Monet’s home?” John admired the Impressionists and had read about Monet’s garden recently, hoping to tour the place someday.

 Sherlock brightened. “Yes, it’s not far, in fact. Grand-maman is a painter and she loves the area.”  John was charmed.  It explained where some of Sherlock’s passionate, artistic side originated.  The doctor was looking forward to meeting her. 

“Is she your maternal or paternal grandmother?”  John hoped she was a Holmes. Though he’d never met Sherlock’s mother, based on how she was treating Sherlock, he was pretty sure they wouldn’t get along.  Sherlock spoke of his grandmother with such warm affection that John wanted to like her very much.

 “She’s my father’s mother.  Her maiden name was Vernet.” When John didn’t recognise the name, Sherlock explained. “The Vernet family has had many artists born into it since the seventeenth century. My grandmother is very talented.”  John was not surprised to learn there was a long line of geniuses and artistic talent in Sherlock’s family.

There were a few minutes before they could drive onto the train so they had some time to kill. Sherlock picked up a couple of newspapers from a news agent and transferred to a chair nearby to read. There was a telly in the restaurant for the customers and John went over to watch. A news segment had just come on and John increased the volume slightly so he could hear.  The restaurant was still busy and no one was paying much attention to him.  He stood riveted as the announcer began the top news story.

“Continuing our story from earlier this evening, it seems the unidentified individual that has been the target of the LondonSentinelTower’s first Hunt in decades might be missing from the Tower.  No trace has been seen of him since he was taken away late yesterday morning and brought into the Tower despite repeated demands from the public and local government.

“Late this evening, Protectors were seen to be searching the grounds  and surrounding neighbourhoods of the London Tower and are now being sent to all train and bus stations as well as the major airports, presumably looking for this individual.

“There is considerable speculation but no definite facts in this case. It is known that the man was injured by the confrontation with London’s Alpha Prime sentinel, Colin Fitzhugh. How bad his injuries are is unknown.  The Tower is not commenting but the questions by government authorities are getting more insistent.” The newscaster seemed pleased and excited to be reporting this event. That was interesting.  

The screen changed to a distance shot of the terraced flat where John had been hiding just the night before.  He remembered seeing the media caravans off to his left when he’d exited the flat with the guards.  The camera pulled back to reveal a reporter, pink cheeked in the chilly noon air. “LondonSentinelTower authorities refused to comment on the events that occurred here this morning. Many have described it as shocking abuse of the worst kind and there have been numerous calls for the Tower to account for the whereabouts of this man as well as the Sentinel Alpha Prime’s appalling behaviour. Some of the violence on this video may be too intense for some viewers.”

Now John was coming out of the house and being forced to his knees. Thankfully, the media had been kept far enough away so that he couldn’t be identified. Compared to the guards, he looked so small and helpless. It made his futile attack on Fitzhugh seem a brave gesture of defiance instead of the deliberate act it was. The retaliation against him was a shocking overreaction in its brutality, especially considering how ineffective his own attack had been.  It didn’t help that the gasps of disbelief and expressions of outrage recorded from bystanders when Fitzhugh struck him seemed to make things much worse. John felt ill and it hurt to watch himself be beaten like that and then dragged away, defeated and vulnerable.

 The reporter was back. “The Mayor of London and representatives of the Labour Party, Liberal Democrats and not a few of the Conservative Party have issued statements condemning the actions witnessed here today.  They are demanding an accounting of the events. So far there has been no response from the London Tower authorities. Some people are calling for Alpha Prime Fitzhugh to step down.” 

Sickened and worried by what he’d just seen, John tried to make sense of events. Unexpectedly, he felt Sherlock’s hesitant emotional touch. His sentinel had picked up on his distress and had come to comfort him. Emotions of love and gratitude created a lump in John’s throat so he couldn’t speak.  When Sherlock came up and wrapped his arms around him, pressing his face into John’s hair, the doctor leaned back into the warmth and used his empathy to enfold his sentinel in his affection and thanks.

A strange voice spoke up beside them and they turned to see their waiter watching the end of the newscast. The man was shaking his head in disgust and outrage. “It’s obscene what the Tower has been doing to that poor man. It’s clear he wants nothing to do with them and they should leave him alone!  If that’s how they treat someone they really want to bring into their community, it’s no bloody wonder no one wants to be a guide any longer!  

“Mark my words; there will be an accounting for what they’ve done. They might be above the law in this but they’re not above having to deal with public opinion.   This story is spreading all over the country and people are angry at the way this bloke’s being treated. 

“There are petitions on the internet supporting him and opposing that new legislation—you know the one that’s to be voted on in a few months to force everyone to be tested?  Everyone was sure it was going to pass without any opposition. People are thinking differently now. If you’ve not seen the petitions, you should look them up and sign them. The more people who get involved, the less chance the Tower has to tear families apart.” 

Surprised at the vehemence of the young man’s words Sherlock and John watched him go back to the busy restaurant.  They looked at each other, with eyebrows raised.

”Well. That was rather unexpected,” John finally said. 

”You’ve become a sensation. Maybe something good can come of this and people’s outrage will make Members of Parliament reconsider their support of the Tower’s attempt to rollback guide and omega rights.”  
  
Turning in Sherlock’s arms, John looked up at him in surprise. “Since when have you been paying any attention to politics? I thought it was boring.”

Sherlock pulled him close again.  “Normally it is boring.  But I started paying attention when I knew it would affect you. I was concerned they’d take you away.  That was why I decided to let you know how I felt. I’m sorry I made such a hash of it all.”

“Wait. You knew? You knew I was a guide?” John was flabbergasted.

Sherlock sighed. “John, I suspected you might be a guide the moment I met you.”  The doctor just blinked at him in disbelief.  “It was clear to me you were very sensitive when you offered the use of your mobile that day Stanford introduced us.  It may come as a surprise to you, but I don’t usually like people right away and they don’t like me. I felt comfortable with you immediately and actively courted you to get you to move in with me.”

Eyebrows raised in astonishment, John remembered the wink at the lab. It had certainly worked. He’d thought Sherlock was absolutely gorgeous if somewhat strange.

“Your extremely protective behaviour toward me was another clue that you might be a full-strength guide. Later, as we spent more time together, I could smell the omega underlying the beta overtones of your scent. Finding your suppressants in your nightstand confirmed my observations.” John rolled his eyes in exasperation but knowing how few boundaries Sherlock had, he shouldn’t have been surprised.   

“But it was only recently that I knew for certain you were a guide when you stood next to me while I examined the feet.  You leaned into me and I decided to extend my senses. I couldn’t believe what I could see without effort and with out fear of zoning. The zone I experienced on the bridge a few minutes later was the result of an ill-conceived experiment.” Sherlock’s tone was wry.

“What? What do you mean an experiment?” John was certain he should be angry but was more baffled instead.

Sherlock sighed and spoke reluctantly. “I knew I was emotionally compromised.  The pressure I was getting from my family to leave you and bond with someone they chose was …upsetting, to say the least. I shouldn’t have tried it but I decided to extend my senses without you while I was on the bridge and I zoned. I don’t know how I ended up in the middle of the road. And yes, I know I could have been killed.” Sherlock cut off John’s attempt to comment. “I’m sorry for what I put you through but it did confirm to me what you were.”

”It also confirmed it for Mycroft and the Tower, as well.” John’s mouth tightened in irritation but Sherlock was nodding.

”Yes and I owe you an apology for that, as well. I never meant to hurt you or expose you to danger. I never dreamt this would happen to you or that Mycroft would behave in such a despicable fashion.”  
  
”Three apologies in one night! I think that might be a new record.” John smiled at Sherlock’s frown. “Well, it’s done now and things have worked out all right. It’s fine, Sherlock. I’m just glad we’re now together.” Sherlock just nodded.

John shook his head at the absurdity of it all. “So you’ve known all this time and you never said anything.”

“I was waiting for you to speak to me about it. It was clear that you were being very careful not to reveal yourself and I didn’t want you to be uncomfortable around me. I didn’t want you to leave me.” Sherlock seemed a bit uncertain, which was just too much for John.

The doctor hugged his sentinel hard and looked up at him, smiling. “I was scared to say anything to you. I was very attracted to you but just didn’t know how you felt until we met in the spirit world. Then I could literally feel what you were feeling.”

“I was afraid, too. Your opinion matters to me and I wasn’t sure how you felt either.”

“We’ve both been idiots, then.”

Sherlock smiled. “Well, most everybody is, at one time or another.  This location is less than ideal for this conversation. Let’s head to the car. It’s nearly time to board. We can talk more on the trip, if you like.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI: I'm not British and have never been to Folkestone or on the Eurotunnel. All I know I've learned from Wikipedia. If I've got something horribly wrong please let me know and I'll try to fix it. Otherwise, please forgive my ignorance.


	5. Chapter 5

 

Boarding the train and the trip to Calais took no time at all and, after everything that had happened, seemed strangely anticlimactic   Exhausted, the two stayed in the car but barely spoke. John’s bruises were bothering him so he stretched out on the comfortable back seat.  

 

It was hard to believe that they were finally safe and once they set foot on French soil, John would be truly free.  There was no way the Tower could take him at that point, even if they knew where he was. These thoughts followed him into a deep, healing slumber. He never even noticed when they arrived in Calais or when the journey to Giverny began.

 

Coming out of a pleasant dream, John woke slowly.  For a moment he wasn’t sure where he was but then remembered.  It felt like it should be much later than it was, but it was still dark outside.  Sitting up slowly, back and hips aching, he checked the time. He’d only been asleep for about three hours but he felt somewhat human again.  Yawning, he stretched and leaned forward, crossing his arms on the top of the seat to look out the front windscreen.

  
”Good morning, Sleeping Beauty. Do you feel better?” Sherlock’s voice was amused.

  
”Yes, I do feel somewhat better, thank you very much.  Where are we?”  It was very dark and difficult to tell where they were, so he mentally tried to determine how far they might have got in three hours.

  
”We’re about ten minutes from Grand-maman’s house. So your timing is good.  We can unpack and clean up shortly. Breakfast is usually around eight but she’s planning on having us over for a brunch instead, so you can get some more sleep if you like.”  That sounded great to John.  He was still exhausted.

 

The excitement of getting safely away and beginning the first stages of a new life was making him a bit giddy.   He felt like laughing but was afraid he might get out of control, which would alarm Sherlock.  He’d deal with it later, once things settled down and he and Sherlock sorted things out between them.  They had time and he was content.

 

Driving along a small country road, Sherlock eventually turned down a narrow private road.  The drive was quite long and curving and John could see bits of beautiful landscaping illuminated by the car’s head lamps as they drove slowly along.

 

Eventually they approached the main house that was, as John had suspected, enormous.  Instead of driving to the house, Sherlock turned down a side road that took them around and behind the building. They stopped in front of a small cottage, blazing with lights. It looked like a something from a fairy tale, gingerbread included.   

 

John gaped at it as he stepped from the car. Sherlock rolled his eyes and before John could say anything, remarked, “Grandfather had strange tastes in architecture and let’s just leave it at that, shall we?”  He opened the boot and took out the luggage.

 

John tried to help, but Sherlock wouldn’t allow it, saying acerbically, “You have a strained back, bruises everywhere and you’ve hurt your shoulder.  Just open the door, please. Thank you.”  Shrugging, John complied without further comment.  
  
The doctor fell in love with the place the minute he turned the handle and entered the cottage. Even lit with only artificial lights, the place was bright, open and welcoming in a way he’d never experienced in a house before. He knew little about architecture and so couldn’t identify any particular style. In fact the house seemed to be a jumble of styles that worked remarkably well together.  He wondered what it would look like in daylight.

 

There was a wide central hallway that revealed two small, cosy rooms on either side.  A small staircase was to the right of the hall after the rooms.  The hall continued straight back to the rear of the house where John could see a kitchen that seemed to consist of a lot of windows. 

 

Sherlock led him up the stairs to the master bedroom that included an en suite bathroom.  The back wall was also mostly windows and John looked about in wonder.  The room seemed to take up a third of the house and the bed was huge.

 

“Do you want this room? I can take the other room across the landing.” Sherlock seemed hesitant and unsure. 

 

Turning toward Sherlock, John deliberately reached out empathically and tried to read his friend’s emotions.  Moving close, he wound his arms around the taller man’s waist and hugged hard. “I want us to share the room, Sherlock. Is that okay with you?”

 

The relief he picked up from Sherlock explained why he’d been hesitant. John shook his head and admonished the detective.

 

“You don’t have to be afraid to ask me for what you want.  I can feel when you’re upset or want something, but you need to tell me. I can read your emotions but not your mind. At least not yet,” he added with a grin.

 

Sherlock blushed and spoke awkwardly.  “This is all very difficult for me, John. You’ve always been so much more open about expressing...” he gestured vaguely and made a face. “…feelings.  I’m not used doing this with anyone. I never thought I’d ever _want_ to do this.”  
  
”It’s not been easy for me either, Sherlock. Trusting another person isn’t a simple thing for me. I’ve had a bit more practice than you, though.  The experience of fighting in a war has made a difference. I had to trust my team to have my back.  

 

“Bonding was not something that I have ever expected to want to do, either.  Then I met this tall dark stranger and the rest is history.” John had pressed his face into Sherlock’s neck and couldn’t help smiling.  Joy and happiness welled up in him and felt like it flooded out of them both and filled the room with sunshine.  
   
”Well, you better tell that stranger you’re taken.”  Sherlock whispered into his ear and hugged him back hard. Then he bent to rub his face against the side of John’s neck.  Both of them gasped in surprise at the heat that surged through them. John’s head seemed to tilt back of its own accord and his throat began to tingle. Sherlock pulled away in astonishment.  It took some doing for John to lower his head and stop exposing his throat. The tension between them could be cut with a knife.

 

Shakily, Sherlock let go and cleared his throat. “I think we should get cleaned up.  And you need to get some rest.  You go first and I’ll fix some tea for us. It’ll be ready by the time you’re finished.” With that, he left the room and practically ran down the stairs.  
  
John was equally shaken at how quickly events had moved. Rubbing under his chin, he wasn’t surprised to feel the glands were now swollen. Apparently both he and Sherlock were more than ready for bonding.  Forrester had warned him about that. 

 

Idly, he wondered if there was anything around he could use for lube.  Once he went into heat, he wouldn’t need it, but if they were going to bond as sentinel and guide before his heat, they’d seriously need some lube. It might be best if they waited for his heat. Just a few more days to go, he estimated. Could they wait that long?

 

Sherlock had left their luggage in the room and he sorted through it, hanging up their coats in the cupboard and setting the cases out on the large bed.  He unpacked and put away pants, socks, vests and jumpers of his and then unpacked Sherlock’s things.  Knowing his friend, Sherlock would probably rearrange everything anyway, but he was careful about how he placed his possessions.

  
John knew he wasn’t anything special.  It was hard to believe someone as amazing as Sherlock would want anything to do with him, but there was considerable evidence to the contrary. Sherlock seemed to care deeply for him and had said he wanted to try to bond with him.  Everything else was irrelevant, as far as John was concerned. 

  
Not surprisingly, the en suite bathroom was also quite wonderful. It was a huge relief to get hot water on his stiff muscles and bruises. The house seemed to have all the mod cons and probably even had a washer/dryer somewhere. They’d be here for at least a few days and he planned to enjoy the luxury of being in a beautiful location and with the most gorgeous person he’d ever met for as long as he could.  He couldn’t believe his good luck.

 

Dressing took no time and soon he joined Sherlock in the kitchen. It was very well stocked and they enjoyed the small tea Sherlock had prepared. Again, John was surprised at how hungry he was and he ate more than he intended and went looking for more. Leaving the dishes for later, John went to rest while Sherlock took his turn in the shower. 

 

The doctor drifted off to the sound of the water and didn’t hear Sherlock come in and join him in the bed.  Dreaming lovely dreams of comfort and safety, he woke a few hours later completely wrapped up in long, thin limbs.  John caressed the skin of his future bond mate’s arm, marvelling at the contrast of the softness of the skin and the strength of hard muscle and bone. 

 

There were scars, too. Seeing them made John sad, knowing his friend had had such terrible times that he’d descended into despair and drug use.  While he could never prevent the black moods, John was confident Sherlock would never need to resort to drugs again. He would see to it. With that reassuring thought, he slipped into sleep again.

 

They both woke very late but Sherlock said his grandmother was expecting them for brunch.  Feeling rested for the first time in days, John dressed quickly, choosing his best shirt and jumper as well as some very nice charcoal trousers Sherlock had given him. 

 

As he came downstairs to meet Sherlock, he could see that the house was everything he’d imagined it would be in the daytime. It was flooded with natural light that was tempered to a soft illumination by the leaves of large trees as well as artfully designed window treatments.  The kitchen was especially glorious as the large windows looked out over a beautiful valley and garden.

 

The house was filled with paintings and other gorgeous decorative objects, few of which John could identify but he knew were probably very valuable. He made a mental note to be very careful. It would make a very poor impression to accidentally break something that had probably been in the family for generations.

 

The walk to the main house wound through another garden that probably rivalled Monet’s in its beauty.  John didn’t pay it as much attention as it deserved, unfortunately. He was very nervous and hoping he would make a good first impression on Sherlock’s beloved relative.  They entered the house through a back door that led straight into a large, comfortable kitchen. It smelled absolutely heavenly inside and John’s mouth started watering immediately as he realised he was starving again.

 

The doctor didn’t get to see much of the kitchen before he watched Sherlock being engulfed in an enormous hug by a very short, very round middle-aged woman.  Sherlock chatted to her in French in between the many kisses the woman gave him.  Finally she let him go and both turned to John. 

 

“May I introduce Mme Monique Despradelles, grand-maman’s chef and my chief nemesis when I visited here on holiday. She actually made me eat! Monique, may I present Dr John Watson, my partner and future bond mate.” A thrill went through John as Sherlock introduced him as his potential bond mate for the first time.

  
The woman dimpled and hugged John carefully, then kissed both his cheeks enthusiastically. In heavily accented English, she said, “So nice to meet you, Jean.  You make Sherlock so very happy.  He talks of no one else when he rings.” She beamed at them both.

 

John hugged and kissed her back. ”It’s lovely to meet you and, for totally selfish reasons, I thank you for taking such good care of him. I hope to be doing that from now on but I’ll probably need to get some pointers from you, if you don’t mind.”

 

“Of course I don’t mind!” she exclaimed. “I’ll make copies of all his favourite recipes and give them to you as a gift at your bonding ceremony.”  
  
Bonding ceremony? They’d not talked about that. There was a lot they’d not talked about.  Eyebrows raised, he glanced at Sherlock as he answered. ”That would be brilliant! Thank you so much.”   
  
”Now you lads get into the parlour.  Mme Holmes is waiting for you. I’ll let you know when brunch is ready.”  She shooed them out of the kitchen and into the hall.

 

Sherlock led John past a large formal dining room and into an attractive parlour where an elderly woman sat on a worn, comfortable looking sofa.  The walls were covered with so many gorgeous paintings hung salon style that John didn’t know where to look.  

 

Sherlock went over and bent down to the woman, carefully embracing and then kissing her cheek tenderly.  Sherlock introduced his Grand-maman and John was in love immediately.

  
Mrs Fabienne Holmes was beautiful. Slim and elegant with eyes as sharp as daggers, she smiled at John.  The shape and colour of her eyes were the same as Sherlock’s and it was crystal clear what side of the family he had got his looks from.  John stammered a greeting and felt like an idiot, but her eyes sparkled and she grinned at him impishly.

 

“It’s such a pleasure to meet you, John,” she said in perfect English.  He must have shown some surprise because she laughed and said, “We are indeed French, but my family moved to England during the War and I lived there until my bond mate died.  We rebuilt this house as our summer residence after the War and Mycroft and Sherlock came here every summer. Please, sit. We have a few minutes before brunch is served and I’d love to visit with you. Sherlock, please get us some tea.” 

 

The morning went better than John could ever have expected. The doctor was totally entranced with Sherlock’s grandmother and the feeling was very mutual.  Sherlock seemed to be thrilled that his grandmother approved of his chosen partner, which made John very happy.

 

Mrs Holmes regaled John with many tales of Sherlock as a child, much to the mortification of the man in question.  In turn, John told stories of growing up with his mother and Harry, travelling constantly to wherever hospital his father was posted.   
  
At Sherlock’s request, John told them both what had happened during the last few days after he’d been served the Warrant of Custody by the Tower. Both Holmes’ listened attentively to John’s description of how he’d managed to stay out of the Tower’s hands until he could reunite with Sherlock.  John described with great pride Sherlock’s cleverness in rescuing him from right under the nose of the Sentinel Alpha Prime Colin Fitzhugh himself. Mrs Holmes was suitably impressed and John smiled to watch Sherlock preen for his grandmother. John didn’t mention Mycroft’s role in the entire debacle.  He would leave that up to Sherlock.

 

As they enjoyed their leisurely brunch, he discovered that not only was Mrs Holmes a talented painter, but, like him, she was also an omega. She had had many children and Sherlock and Mycroft were just two of many grandchildren.  But Sherlock seemed to be very special to her. John just hoped she thought he was worthy of Sherlock.

 

During the meal, John had put away enough to feed a small army.  At first, he had been self-conscious about how hungry he was and wouldn’t take more until Monique had come in and added more to his plate herself. She also threatened to feed him by hand if he didn’t finish what she’d given him. 

 

 _So **that’s** how she’d managed to make Sherlock eat.  _ The doctor would definitely have to take pointers from her on the care and feeding of one Sherlock Holmes.  As if he knew what John was thinking, Sherlock narrowed his eyes at him and gave him one of his patented glares of death, somehow forgetting they never worked on John, who simply smiled seraphically at him.

 

Mrs Holmes urged him to eat as much as he wanted and added, much to his and Sherlock’s embarrassment, “You’ll be going into heat soon, John. Probably within the next few days.  I have a nose and I remember that scent very well.” She smiled and teased them.  “You’ll both need your strength for what’s to come.” 

 

John tried hard to suppress a smile and failed as he watched Sherlock’s ears and cheeks turn a flaming red. Sherlock buried his face in his hands. “Just what I need is to talk about sex with my Grand-maman!” By this time John was laughing outright with Mrs Holmes.

 

Once their meal was done, they ended up back in the parlour, where they settled with coffee.  While Sherlock poured, John took the opportunity to walk around the room and examine the paintings hanging on the walls.  They were all of various subject matters and sizes, from portraits to still lifes to landscapes. All were exquisitely painted and beautifully framed. John wasn’t well educated in art, but he could tell many of them were very old while others seemed to have been painted much more recently. He guessed those might have been done by Sherlock’s grandmother.  
  
”These are all magnificent, Mrs Holmes.  Did you paint any of them?”

 

She smiled modestly. “Yes, I painted many of these.  My style is much more modern than my great-grandfather’s.” She stood and brought John over to one of the larger landscapes.

 

“This one best represents my style of painting.  If you look closely, you can see the paint has been applied with much spontaneity and is rather more expressive in style than the others.” Once she’d pointed out the differences, John was immediately able to recognise more of her work scattered through out the room. He pointed out the ones he thought were hers and she laughed delightedly when he was correct. John also realised that many of the paintings in the cottage were hers, as well.  
  
The doctor came back to the sofa and sat down. “You are so talented! How wonderful to be able to create such beautiful things. Do you still paint?”

 

Mrs Holmes sighed and shook her head. “Unfortunately, no. My eyes don’t see as well and arthritis has made it too painful.” She held up her hands and John could see the swollen joints.

 

“I’m so sorry. But you’ve done some gorgeous paintings. Thank you for sharing them with me.”   
  
”Thank you for looking at them and I’m so pleased that you’ve enjoyed them. That’s why I painted them, after all.”

 

Turning to her grandson, Mrs Holmes took his hand and patted it.  “Sherlock, dear, won’t you go help Monique in the kitchen?  I’d like to talk to John alone. I won’t keep him for very long. Kiss me first and I’ll see you later.” It was impossible to refuse her, so Sherlock did as she asked.

 

“The meal was wonderful, Mrs Holmes. Thank you so much for allowing us to come here.” John was a bit confused as to why she wanted to speak with him alone but he was also curious.  
   
”That’s what I wanted to talk to you about, John. Why you’ve come here. I know you and Sherlock plan to bond soon, as both alpha and omega and sentinel and guide.”

 

John flushed and looked away in embarrassment. Trying for humour, he gave her a half smile. “And here I was expecting you to tell me that if I hurt him, no one will ever find the body.”

 

She kindly laughed at his attempt at a joke and teased back. “Well, that too.”  She sobered and continued, “But I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable or embarrass you, John. An omega in heat is something that’s perfectly natural and quite beautiful. I look back on my heats with great fondness and the children that resulted were the greatest joys of my life.” She paused as if choosing her words carefully.

 

“I don’t wish to intrude or tell you what to do, but I want you to know that Sherlock means the world to me and I feel deeply that you two are meant to be together.  He has spoken of no one else since he met you. It was clear to me from the first that you were very important to him.”

 

John flushed again at her words. He’d had absolutely no idea Sherlock had talked to his family about him like that. Did Sherlock mention him to his mother and father, as well?  Had they also deduced what the elder Mrs Holmes had realised about their developing relationship? If so, that was likely what had catalysed Sherlock’s mother to start pressuring him to bond with an omega of her choice and to have Mycroft attempt to warn John off.

 

Mrs Holmes was continuing. “As Sherlock’s chosen bond mate, you are now a part of my family and I want you to think of this house as your home, as well. What I’m trying to say is that you have my blessing.” John was speechless and overwhelmed by her kindness and generosity.

 

“However, I must warn you that you will likely face considerable hostility from Sherlock’s mother at first. Violet is a brilliant woman and ruthless in protecting what she considers her family’s best interests.”  John nodded, suspecting as much from what he’d learnt from both Sherlock and Mycroft.

 

“Sherlock is the sole alpha sentinel of the family. Because of that, he will be the one to inherit the family money and titles. Violet knows that Sherlock has little interest in those things. By attempting to force him to bond with an omega of her choice, she planned to obtain control of raising Sherlock’s children, and thereby the management of the estates and money. When she finds out all her plans have failed, you very well may be the target of her anger. But because she places her family first, she will come around eventually. You should be aware that it may take some time.”

 

John remembered the photos of all the young, stunning omegas that Sherlock’s mother had sent for her son to choose from. It was reasonable that Sherlock’s mother might object to an old, plain, war scarred omega bonding with her son.

 

“I learnt about her plans for Sherlock from Mycroft.  It’s understandable she’d be disappointed that Sherlock chose me over all those others. I saw the photos she had sent of eligible people and I know I can’t compete with young, attractive omegas with a good family name and money. I suppose I’m just lucky they haven’t accused me of being some kind of gold digger.”  
  
Mrs Holmes stared at him as if he were insane. ”Forgive me, but you don’t understand. Violet will accept your bond with Sherlock. That’s not in doubt. You weren’t raised in a sentinel family and have no idea how incredibly fortunate Sherlock is to have found you and won your love and loyalty. 

 

“You don’t seem to know this, but as an omega guide, you could have had the choice of any unbonded sentinel in the country, male or female.” She sat back, shocked at his expression of doubt.

 

“You honestly have no idea, do you? How incredibly special you are?” John just looked at her blankly. “Well, I hope Sherlock spends the rest of his life showing you just how rare and extraordinary you really are. 

 

“You are literally one in a million, John. The genetic combination of an omega and guide is the rarest of all. You are one of a very small minority and are extremely prized by the sentinel community.”

 

John was frustrated. “I know that what I am is rare.  But if people like me are so unusual, then why do sentinels imprison us in the Tower? Then force a bonding with the winner of a _Tournament_ , for Christ’s sake?  It’s so….” He flailed for an appropriate word. “…barbaric!” He shook his head in amazement.

 

Mrs Holmes nodded in sympathy. “It’s traditional, unfortunately.  That’s going to change, though.  Many of the Towers in Europe have already changed dramatically and Britain will eventually follow.  The Americans don’t even have Towers any longer. They have loose confederations that come together at certain times for the good of their communities. 

 

“America and Canada also no longer have Matchmakers or allow forced bondings. Unbonded sentinels and guides arrange their own meetings and choose each other of their own free will.  The same is true for omegas and alphas. They’re free to associate as they wish.”

 

John had known much of this and had envied those in Canada and the US their freedom.  He’d even considered emigrating after his discharge, but then he’d met Sherlock.

 

“Surely you’ve heard of the laws coming up for a vote in Parliament, haven’t you?”  
  
”Yes, I have. I’ve seen such things happen before. These proposed laws are a last-gasp attempt to take back control by the traditionalists before the tide of change rolls over and flattens them completely.  They may win some concessions in the short term, but in the long run, they will lose it all by their repressive attempts to control natural behaviours through legislation. It’s just a matter of time. Deep down, those who would restrict your rights know they will ultimately fail, which is why their actions have been so extreme.  We just have to wait them out.”

 

John saw a great deal of wisdom in her words and felt that maybe, if the laws didn’t pass, that he might have been able to contribute to their failure in some way. The thought made him smile. 

 

“Now, let’s talk about more practical things, like what to expect with your bonding.  Have you ever been with anyone during your heats? Do you know what is going to happen?” 

 

John was caught off guard and had trouble switching gears for a moment. Once again he flushed in embarrassment.  “I’ve suppressed my heats since I was sixteen so I’ve no experience … that way…as an omega, that is. Um.  Yes, I’ve been with people, men and women, but never as…..”  He didn’t know why he was stammering. He was a doctor for god’s sake! But this was Sherlock’s grandmum. It was mortifying.

 

Taking a deep breath, he started over. “I know technically what to expect but have no actual experience.” 

 

“Well, then, please allow me to give you some tips.”  With that, John sat with wide eyes, and received an extremely comprehensive lesson on what it meant to be an omega and how to enjoy his heats.  Before she let him go, she gave him a small wrapped package. When he looked at her questioningly, she said, “Let’s just say it’s going to be very useful soon.” She smiled devilishly at him, kissed his cheek and shooed him off to find Sherlock. 

  
As soon as he walked into the kitchen, Sherlock jumped up and grabbed John by the shoulders. “Thank god you’re here, John. Why did you leave me alone so long with her? This evil woman is force feeding me cake! I’ll explode if I have to eat anything else.”  Monique was standing at the sink, up to her elbows in dishes and trying not to laugh. 

 

John poked Sherlock in his very lean stomach. “Git. You could stand a few more pieces of cake.” Turning to the now laughing chef, he kissed her cheek in thanks. “I’ll get him out of your hair now, Monique. Thank you so much for a lovely brunch and we’ll see you later.” Linking arms with Sherlock, he tugged him out the door. 

 

“You simply don’t know how diabolical she is, John.  I can barely move!”

 

“Yes, yes, you’re quite bloated, I see.  Well, let’s go back to the cottage. I just gorged myself too and, unlike you, I just spent the last half hour talking about sex with _your_ grandmother. I don’t know about you but I’m exhausted and could use a kip.”  Sherlock groaned in mock pain and followed John into the garden. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. Bonding and sex stuff in this chapter. Those who are squicked by graphic descriptions of M/M sex, you have been warned and should not read this. :-)

Once back at the cottage, they prepared for a nap. John was a bit anxious. Even though they’d slept together earlier, deliberately sharing a bed with Sherlock was a huge thing and something he’d been looking forward to for a very long time.  Not knowing what might happen was a bit nerve-wracking.  

 

Absently, he opened the package he’d received from Mrs Holmes. He chuckled when it was revealed to be a large tube of Savlon cream. Hopefully, he’d need it soon, if all went well.

 

He moved over to the dresser and looked at himself critically in the mirror. Plain John Watson stood there in all his glory. He was short, with broad shoulders and narrow hips. He kept himself very fit, but it wasn’t obvious. His clothing, deliberately chosen, made him look pudgy and much heavier than he actually was. Deep lines were etched in the skin of a face that showed every one of his thirty-eight years. His dishwater blond hair had quite a bit more grey than he liked.

 

Sherlock was what, four years younger than he was?  The detective was so exquisitely beautiful. Those cat-like grey-green eyes, the incredible lips and cheekbones that would make any model weep with envy. His perfect, pale skin was ethereal.  And that long, creamy neck. John had fantasised about kissing that neck for at least a year. How Sherlock could ever want anything to do with a simple ex-soldier mystified John, but he wasn’t going to question his incredible good fortune.

 

Removing his jumper and shirt, John reached into the dresser and took out a vest. Before he could put on the top, Sherlock came out of the toilet and gasped out loud. John turned quickly, looking for whatever had startled him. Seeing nothing, he looked questioningly at his friend. “What’s wrong? Did you see something?”

  
”Yes, I did.” Sherlock took his bare arms in his hands and urged John to turn away. He brushed his hands across John’s broad shoulders, down his back and again across his hips where his trousers were hanging low.

 

“I want to know how this happened, John.  This bruising is consistent with an impact at high speed. You didn’t tell me about this. Did you fall or did something hit you?” Sherlock sounded concerned and a bit angry.  
  
”Did I forget to mention being hit by a car?” Sherlock growled. It was a strange, feral sound. John hurriedly continued. “Um, yes. I think I might have done.  But it was truly an accident.” At least, he was pretty sure it had been completely accidental. “I’m fine, luv. I’m just fine. Nothing seriously injured, just bruised.  I’m pretty much one big bruise right now, but I’ll be fine.”

 

“I don’t think these bruises came from a car.” Sherlock was quietly livid as he touched the nape of his neck where Fitzhugh had manhandled him.  
  
”Those. Yes. Those were from Fitzhugh.  He did this thing with my neck…ohh.” John stopped speaking when Sherlock bent and tenderly kissed the finger shaped bruises on his neck and throat. 

  
Sherlock continued to stroke lightly over John’s back and shoulders with his hands as if he was trying to verify what he was being told.  His head dipped again and he rubbed his face in John’s hair and then pressed his nose down to the juncture of his neck and shoulder. The sentinel inhaled deeply, scenting John. He began to move his hands up and down the doctor’s arms and then across and down his chest and stomach.  The sentinel was making deep humming noises of satisfaction combined with rumbles of unhappiness whenever he found injuries. 

 

Realising what was happening, John’s breathing picked up and his heart began to pound.  He hadn’t really expected this to start so soon.  Forrester had told him this was the first step. That Sherlock was beginning the process of imprinting his senses on his guide.

 

After he’d imprinted and completed their bond, Sherlock would finally be able to reach his full potential as a sentinel without fear of zoning. Imprinting could take a long time and the process might be repeated over hours or even days, depending on the individual sentinel.

 

The experience was very sensual. Sherlock’s hands were gentle as he swept over John’s torso.  The long, clever fingers mapped the scarring on John’s shoulder. Sherlock made a strange whimpering sound when he found the deep bruise on the scar made by the tranquilliser gun and when he again encountered the bruises made by Fitzhugh’s fingers.

 

John flinched in pain when the areas were touched. Sherlock pulled back immediately and removed his hands, but John turned quickly and caught him by the wrists.  Sherlock’s pupils were blown wide and he looked drugged.

  
”Let’s do this right, Sherlock.  Get undressed and get in the bed.” Sherlock obeyed and John joined him after removing his trousers and pants. Sherlock was as beautiful as John had imagined. While he’s seen Sherlock mostly undressed, it had never been in this kind of context before.  The man was gorgeous everywhere and, while not completely erect, he was definitely gifted.  He’d heard that alphas tended to be large. John wondered just how big his penis might grow to be and worried how he would deal with something so huge. Could he take something that size inside himself? But he would have his answer soon enough. He was an omega and he was designed to do this.

 

Slowly, John lay down on his back with Sherlock on his good side. Forrester had told him to relax and let his sentinel do as he wished without interference.  She had said that trying to return touches would distract Sherlock from imprinting. The detective was so intent on what he was doing that John doubted a bomb going off would distract him, but the doctor did as he had been instructed and lay quietly.

 

The sentinel slid his left arm beneath the pillows under John’s head and gently pulled them together so that Sherlock was pressed tightly against and partially lying on John’s right side. Rubbing his face against the side of John’s hair and face, he began to scent the doctor behind his ear, the base of his throat and under his chin. 

 

The glands under John’s chin began to tingle again and he tilted his head back for easier access as Sherlock sniffed, tasted and rubbed his face all over John’s head and neck. At the same time, Sherlock’s right hand began to roam again, gently learning all the textures of John’s skin.

 

It was incredibly arousing and soothing at the same time.  Goosebumps broke out over his skin and he trembled. Something in John, probably his true guide self, was very content. Sherlock was memorising everything about his new guide’s body and calibrating his senses to John.  The sentinel seemed to delight in everything but especially enjoyed touching the erectile tissue of John’s nipples.  Since they were incredibly sensitive already, the doctor arched off the bed when Sherlock began to suckle and lick at them. 

 

These activities caused John to not only become hard but a pleasant throbbing began in his lower abdomen. It was difficult to describe and felt like a low key burning excitement that was building slowly, centred in his womb and not in his penis. It made him squirm and pant. This was a very different sensation and likely due to the fact he was with an alpha for the very first time. Sherlock was awakening responses he’d never experienced before.

 

Moving from his nipples, Sherlock switched over to the armpits and spent a considerable time there, licking and scenting.   John was thankful he’d had a chance to bathe thoroughly.  Sentinels were rather earthy in their tastes but there were some limits.

 

Sherlock continued to move downward, stopping for a time at John’s navel, then toward his hips and groin, carefully feeling the changing textures of body hair and skin.  The sentinel was exquisitely gentle and almost impersonal, especially when he began to examine John’s penis and testicles. 

 

Forrester had told him it would be like this. That this wasn’t exactly sexual, but it sure felt that way. He was fully erect by the time Sherlock made it that far and it didn’t help that Sherlock took a lot of time to lick and taste his penis, examining the different textures of the glans, foreskin and shaft, as well as taste the pre-come. 

The testicles were next and then John was carefully rolled over so Sherlock could get to his anus and perineum.  It took all of his control not to come when he was carefully, touched, scented and then tasted.  His nerves around his hole came alive and he couldn’t help moaning and crying out in bitter disappointment when Sherlock moved on.

 

By the time he was shifted onto his back again, John was breathing as if he’d just run a marathon. Sherlock continued down his legs and feet, sniffing and licking at his toes. John tried not to giggle as the space between each of his toes was scented and tasted. 

  
Once again he was turned on his stomach and Sherlock started the imprinting again on his back.  This time, the attention he received was more soothing and reassuring than arousing. Sherlock kept making quiet distressed sounds when he encountered scarring or bad bruises and was extraordinarily careful of the injuries.  John instinctively found himself extending his empathy to soothe his sentinel’s misery.  It seemed to work and Sherlock calmed but continued to taste, scent and touch until he had reached John’s feet.

 

Sherlock urged him onto his back once again and things began to get more intense. The sentinel rubbed his face into the base of John’s throat and then began to suck and lick at the swollen glands under his chin.  John’s lust ratcheted up immediately and he could feel the glands swell even more under the stimulation.  When he thought he could stand no more, Sherlock began to kiss John deeply, tasting and sucking on his lips and tongue, then inserting his tongue in John’s mouth as far as he could reach.  It was amazingly erotic and arousing. Sherlock moved to kissing and licking his eyes and face, then back to his mouth. His split lip had begun to bleed a bit but Sherlock licked up the blood, seeming to savour it.

 

Harder than he could ever remember being in his life, he began to return the kisses and caresses, no longer able to stop himself.  Sherlock didn’t seem to mind because apparently the imprinting was done and it was time to bond.

 

Sherlock pulled back after tasting everything he could and looked down at his guide.  John was almost mindless with lust at this point, but was immediately caught in his sentinel’s gaze. Sherlock looked ethereally beautiful to John. 

“Mine,” Sherlock whispered. 

“Yours, only yours,” answered John.  Sherlock then bent his head and bit hard at the glands under John’s throat.   
  
It hurt like hell and there was a rush of heat that exploded through his brain and then spread through his body with every beat of his heart.  He writhed in torment and then the pain was gone to be replaced by a need he couldn’t describe.  Opening his eyes, everything was tinged blue, though he was still in bed with Sherlock, who was lying on top of him, now completely erect.  The bedroom had changed and seemed to be a combination of the blue forest and the cottage.  John didn’t care. All he cared about was becoming one with his sentinel.  
  
Staring deep in to his sentinel’s eyes, he spoke words that he now realised were ritual.  “I am yours and you are mine, in this life and the next. There will never be another. Take what is yours, sentinel!” 

  
The sensation of falling into Sherlock’s eyes was disorienting at first but then things righted themselves as Sherlock fell into his and their minds locked.  They melted together and became one.  It was frightening and wondrous. Understanding and acceptance of each other became absolute and immediate.

 

Again, time had no meaning as they examined each other’s memories and feelings.  Sherlock’s mind was like a many faceted jewel.  John was not surprised to find that Sherlock’s abrupt and supercilious exterior hid a depth of emotion and a passion for life that was astounding. He just hoped that Sherlock found equal wonders in him. 

 

As he thought that question, it was answered by his bond mate that he would never be able to reach the depths of John’s love and compassion, his fierce protectiveness and his goodness and decency, as long as they lived. John felt Sherlock’s awe at this and his determination to live up to everything John saw in him.  Sherlock felt it was a tall order but he was going to do his best.

 

This went on for an unknown amount of time.  They seemed to swirl around each other and fall deeper and deeper into each other’s minds and memories, mixing together until they were truly one. Something with in each of them joined together then with the solidity of a vault door closing.

 

Without warning, they were no longer one, but two. John mourned the separation until he settled completely into his body again, which was raging still with the released hormones.  Thinking became difficult at that point.  He managed to reach over to the nightstand and pick up a tube of lubricant that had been packed in his suitcase and handed it to Sherlock, who looked at is uncomprehendingly for a moment. Then the lights seemed to come back on and he kissed John deeply.  Warming some of the lube in his hand for a moment, Sherlock began to prepare his guide.

 

John was so deep in arousal he barely kept track of what Sherlock was doing, but whatever it was, it felt amazing. Brilliant, in fact.  Somehow he was on his stomach and pushing up against the fingers Sherlock was using to apply the lubricant.  He couldn’t tell how many fingers but the stretch was what he was craving. Something told him that he would not have any trouble accommodating his sentinel, even though he wasn’t in heat yet.  Whatever hormones had been released made him feel a wantonness that he’d never experienced.  He had to have Sherlock inside of him right away.

 

“I need you in me now, Sherlock! Please!”  John was moaning and pleading, totally unashamed. He closed his eyes and raised himself up more, begging.

 

Suddenly, his perspective changed and he was seeing Sherlock’s penis line up with his hole and pushing in. The sight of it excited him even more and he began to pant with lust. Opening his eyes, realised he was seeing double.  He was simultaneously watching Sherlock penetrate him and at the same time looking back over his shoulder at Sherlock. Not only was he seeing double, he was feeling what it was like to penetrate and be penetrated.     
  
The disorientation threw him off and suddenly he was in agony. It felt like he was being split in two.  His body had tightened up in that short moment.  Sherlock stopped immediately and moaned in pain as John squeezed him too tightly. John could feel himself squeezing Sherlock and the detective could feel John being stretched too much.

 

They were both feeling each other’s physical sensations. It was the strangest thing he’d ever experienced and incredibly amazing at the same time.  He didn’t know what to do.

 

Hardly coherent, he moaned, “Wait, just a minute, Sherlock.”  He closed his eyes again and forced himself to relax and breathe deeply. Sherlock was draped over his back and holding himself up with his long arms, trembling and trying to keep himself still so as not to hurt either of them.

 

Panting, John forced himself relax and at the same time could feel the pressure on Sherlock loosen.

 

“Okay, push slowly while I bear down.”  Sherlock sat back, held onto John’s hips and pushed in slowly, finally seating himself completely inside John.  It felt incredible and there was no pain any longer, only desire and lust.

  
”My god, you’re all the way in me, Sherlock. You’re so big; I can feel you inside me so deep.”  Sherlock’s response was a profound groan as he began to pull back and then push in slowly, back and forth with short thrusts. John could feel an almost electric spark as the large head of Sherlock’s penis rubbed his prostate and he pushed back eagerly while Sherlock thrusts increased in speed. It was apparent that Sherlock felt what John was feeling also and deliberately hit John’s prostate with every other thrust.   
  
As they finally obtained a steady rhythm John felt himself merging with Sherlock again. Their individual pleasures became indistinguishable from each other and their arousal ratcheted up to heights neither of them had ever experienced before.  John could no longer tell where he ended and Sherlock began as Sherlock’s thrusts shortened again and speeded up as he began to push in as far as he could.

 

Just before they both climaxed, the bond that they had formed earlier seemed to tighten and bring them even closer together. John moaned Sherlock’s name as he experienced the most powerful climax he’d ever felt, shaking and trembling in ecstasy. At the same time, his sentinel thrust as deep as he could and John could feel his shaft pulsing and throbbing in intense pleasure as his seed spilled far inside John.  
  
They both collapsed on the bed, breathing hard as they slowly separated in mind and body, though John tried to keep Sherlock buried inside for as long as he could. His body thrummed and sparked with electric aftershocks after that amazing experience as the manifestations of the blue spirit world slowly faded from the room.

 

Finally Sherlock carefully pulled free and rolled to one side.  They looked at each other, speechless in wonder and awe.  The sentinel reached out and gathered his guide to him. John went willingly and as they embraced, the connection between them flared up brightly for a moment and then settled down to a constant background awareness.  Their happiness and contentment wrapped around them both and followed them into sleep. 

 

John woke suddenly to find himself lying in the middle of the blue forest clearing. Shocked, he sat up and reached out for Sherlock, who was lying deeply asleep next to him in the grass.  They were both dressed in what John considered their typical every day clothes. Shirt, jumper and casual trousers for him and a gorgeous designer suit for Sherlock. It must be how they subconsciously saw themselves and it manifested itself in the spirit world.

 

Gently shaking his bond mate awake, John looked around the clearing.  It was empty but he had the clear feeling that they were to follow the path slightly off to their right.  Without speaking and moving as one, they rose, joined hands and headed into the blue forest.

 

Again, time had no meaning and sight and sound were muted though the sky was pitch black and sparkled with stars like hard, multi-faceted diamonds. They walked for what seemed a long time. The huge old trees eventually gave way to younger and smaller trees, then to underbrush and finally to a large expanse of gently rolling land that seemed to go on forever.  Distance was as impossible to determine as time but they kept walking.  
  
Eventually they came upon a series of megaliths arranged in circles or placed in solitary majesty on the landscape.  They realised they’d arrived where they needed to be when they saw their spirit animals standing in front of one of the stone circles. Silently, they followed the animals into the circle and stopped when they approached one of the inner massive stones.

 

The stone was huge, much taller than Sherlock.  Intricately carved, the stone was as wide as it was tall.  John knew enough of megaliths to know they were rarely carved but all within this circle were not only carved, but brightly coloured. The one in front of them was brighter than the others and drew their attention completely. 

 

As John studied the design he realised it consisted of a two lines, each a series of intricate Celtic knot designs that started at opposite ends of the stone and meandered without a real pattern until they met at the bottom centre of the stone and then ran straight upward, paralleling each other.  The colours of the meandering lines varied in hue, intensity and thickness.  The lines were at their darkest and thinnest where they met at the bottom and then became increasingly stronger, brighter, thicker and more colourful as they ran upward side by side.

 

Toward the centre of the stone, the lines began to weave over and around each other, back and forth in increasingly intricate patterns, becoming more colourful and brighter until they merged together and began to literally glow and pulse a pure gold so bright it was almost too much to look at directly. 

 

Above where the light ended, John could see the faint markings of more designs that continued straight up but also many others that branched off.  Most of the upper half of the stone was blank and lightless, but in a way that somehow evoked potential and not lifelessness.

 

Looking at his bond mate, John saw that Sherlock seemed clueless as to the significance of the stones also.  Confused, John looked down at the spirit animals for explanation.

 

_‘Welcome, little brothers! We rejoice in your successful bonding!’_  John’s wolf was laughing and her tongue lolled in happiness for them.

 

Sherlock’s raptor nodded his head and snapped his sharp beak in agreement, black feathers rustling. _‘Indeed, your bonding has brought us immense gladness.  It unbalanced you both to be so separate for so long but now you are eternally two- who- are- one.’_

 

The wolf stood and indicated the lines on the megalith. _‘We understand you are here to learn.  The lines on this stone represent the quality and strength of your life bonds.  What has been in the past is etched indelibly. What is in the future is fluid._

_‘The line on the left is John. The line on the right is Sherlock.  The width of each line and colour signifies your emotional state at specific times of your lives.’_

 

It was Sherlock’s eagle’s turn to speak. _‘As you can see, before you met each other, the lines meandered and were directionless.  The width is thinnest and colour darkest just before you finally found each other in the real world.  You both had close brushes with death and despair. But as you can see, once you met and began to fly together, your life bonds became stronger and brighter. As you grew closer, they began to intertwine and now they are truly one, as they have been meant to be. Together, you will always be much greater than you are apart.’_

 

Wagging her tail in agreement, the wolf took up the story. _‘We show you this so you can know that what is in the future is uncertain but that your bond is timeless and eternal. The faint, etched lines you see above your newly forged bond are the possibilities for your future. The branches off the straight line will likely be your children. You will have many and they will be the source of great joy as well as sorrow. That is the way of things.’_

The eagle spread his huge wings and shook his head. _‘Be warned! Your bond will have challenges before it settles into permanence. You must meet these challenges with courage as there will always be much danger in your lives.  You know this already.’_

The eagle gazed at the doctor with pale grey-green eyes. _‘John Watson, be patient with your sentinel and teach him the value of your empathy and compassion for all living things. You must help him to moderate his flights of genius in pursuit of the truth. ’_

Dark blue eyes stared hard at the detective.  _‘Sherlock Holmes, be patient with your guide and teach him the value of your enthusiasm and immense passion for life and art. You must help him moderate his absolute ruthlessness in the protection of those he loves.’_

_‘You complete and balance each other. Learn from each other and always treat each other with respect, devotion and love. Protect each other and your family.  All will be well and you will live long and happy lives.’_

That last bit almost sounded like a bonding ceremony. Not sure what to make of everything, John turned to Sherlock who was looking just as mystified as he. Shrugging, he turned to the spirit animals, who were observing the two of them with great expectation.

 

What did one say to a spirit guide?  “Um…thanks?”  Feeling completely idiotic, John gave them a brief smile and looked back at Sherlock, who was rolling his eyes and clearly trying not to smirk.

 

Exasperated but also pleased, he poked Sherlock in the side. “Well, what would you have said?” Sherlock only huffed. _They were so bonded,_ John thought with fondness.

 

It was very clear that the spirit animals were having a good laugh at their expense but somehow John didn’t mind.  So the future held lots of danger and apparently, lots of children.  _Something they probably ought to seriously_ _discuss first, though_ , thought John.   
  
As if reading his mind, Sherlock took his hand and kissed the knuckles. “Very good advice, John. I think we should be sure to listen well.”

 

Sherlock’s eagle had more to say.  _‘You have much to do and to learn, the both of you. Thankfully, you are young yet. Accept the help you are offered and do not hold grudges.  Every being, especially humans, make mistakes. Learn to forgive those who are truly repentant. You will need all your resources to succeed in overcoming your challenges to your bond and to your family.’_ John thought he knew what the eagle was referring to and wasn’t sure if forgiveness was something he could do right now. But he would think about it if it meant keeping Sherlock safe.

_‘Now it’s time for you to return to the real world.  You may come here whenever you wish, though I suspect it won’t be necessary very often.  We’re both pleased and proud to be your spirit helpers and if you ever need us, do not hesitate to come to us.’_

 

Before either could respond, everything began to gently fade into darkness and they both slipped back into a deep sleep, the mirth of their spirit animals following them into pleasant dreams.

 

They slept for a few hours and woke to find the late afternoon sun warming the room and striping the walls with beams of golden light. John sat up and groaned.  The dream of the spirit world was a faint memory but he knew he’d remember it when necessary. 

 

Right now, he was incredibly sore and extremely grateful for the tube of Savlon Mrs Holmes had gifted him. The woman was a national treasure.  Walking slowly and carefully into the en suite, he cleaned himself up as best he could without showering and applied plenty of ointment.  He wet a cloth with warm water and soap and returned to the bed to clean up Sherlock thoroughly. The sentinel seemed to sleep right through it.  

 

John considered their bonding experience. He was still amazed that he’d come so powerfully without Sherlock even touching him at all.  That and being able to feel what Sherlock was feeling was nothing he had ever imagined could happen and he couldn’t wait to try it again.  But they would have to wait for a while until he was a bit less sensitive. It had been his first time after all but, after their initial slow start, it had been glorious. Better than any other sexual experience and he wondered if they could possibly do any better.

  
”If not better, I’m sure we can equal that performance.” John smiled down at his sentinel. Finally awake, Sherlock had read his mind again and John found he didn’t mind it at all.  “Your heat is coming soon and even if it’s not better, it will likely be every bit as wonderful.”  
  
”This seems to be the week for experiencing first times, Sherlock. I’m just so glad it’s with you and only you.”  
  
Sherlock’s eyes darkened and he pulled John down to him, embracing and kissing his guide, careful of his split lip. John reached down and stroked his sentinel to partial hardness. His fingers slid over the foreskin and shaft and he lightly continued to stroke.  
  
Kissing Sherlock deeply, he pulled back and whispered,”I can feel where your knot will form.” He looked down at his bond mate and watched as he tightened his grip and sped up the strokes.  Sherlock closed his eyes and threw back his head, groaning in pleasure as he became fully erect. John slid down to look closer at Sherlock’s penis. It was as beautiful and elegant as the rest of him.

 

Moving closer, he kissed and then took the glans into his mouth, licking and flicking his tongue along the fraenulum and under the glans teasingly. Sherlock groaned again and gently put one hand on John’s head and grabbed the sheets with the other. 

 

Sherlock was very large and John couldn’t fit much into his mouth, so he licked up and down until the shaft was very wet and then stroked with his hand using a slight twisting motion.  He could feel his sentinel’s pulse in the veins of the shaft as Sherlock ran his fingers through John’s hair.

 

John took the head into his mouth again and Sherlock jerked and tried to thrust, but the doctor held him down and began to alternate flicking with his tongue and sucking until Sherlock warned him that he was close. He sucked harder, tongue caressing under the glans and sped up his strokes on the shaft until his lover climaxed with a shout. Sherlock’s penis throbbed and swelled as it pulsed and flooded his mouth with semen.  John swallowed everything and reluctantly let go with a final kiss when it became apparent Sherlock was becoming too sensitive. 

 

The knot at the base of his sentinel’s penis didn’t expand much but he could tell it was going to be very large when it eventually did grow. That was consistent with what he’d seen so far and he was very much looking forward to feeing it inside him.

  
Sherlock recovered as John sat up. “Can I do the same for you?”  John chucked, and licked at his lips lasciviously.  The split on his lip had opened up again but wasn’t bleeding much at all. “Thanks, luv, but I don’t have another in me right now. I’m closer to forty than you are. But you can always ask later tonight.”  
  
Gasping at the erotic sight, Sherlock nodded absently and caressed John’s face. “I shall do just that.  Thank you. That was incredible.” John smiled smugly and embraced his sentinel.  They kissed and breathed into each other’s mouths until John’s stomach growled loudly, breaking the spell they’d fallen under. Both giggled and broke apart.  
  
”We need to feed that insatiable belly of yours something more substantial than some protein.”  
  
”You need to eat, too. Pretty soon we’ll both be too busy to feel like eating anything.”   They threw on some clothes and clattered down to the kitchen, where the makings of a large tea were set out.

 

“Did Monique come in here while were…otherwise occupied?” John wasn’t sure whether to be amused or embarrassed. Surely she knew what they’d been up to but he decided he didn’t care.  They brought the tea, biscuits and sarnies out to the patio so they could enjoy it and the incredible view of the valley and farms below as the sun began to set. 

 

John couldn’t remember a time when he’d been happier  Just as he thought this, Sherlock stretched out his hand and took John’s, kissing the palm and wrist.  John laid his hand on his sentinel’s cheek and caressed it as Sherlock said, “In case I’ve not mentioned it before, John, I love you.”  He could feel Sherlock’s contentment without even using his empathy and knew Sherlock was feeling his love and happiness also at being there together.

 

“It goes without saying, I’ve loved you for what feels like forever. I can’t honestly tell you just how wonderful it feels to be here with you.” 

 

Sherlock smiled at John’s statement. “I can feel it. That’s the best part of all this. You don’t have to say it though it’s nice to hear. I expect it will help us resolve conflicts in future, knowing how we each truly feel about the other.  I promise you, I will always do my best to be honest with you.”  
  
John returned the smile fondly. “Knowing you, you great git, you’ll probably leave the important bits out to try to protect me, but I’ll at least know now when you’re doing it. Mark my words; you’ll not be getting away with much any longer. And I promise to be as honest with you as I can.”  
  
”That...that’s never really been an issue between us.  You’ve never lied to me, while I can’t say the same.  I can sometimes tell what you’re thinking but it’s rare that I can predict what you’re going to do in any given situation, though.  After that dream we just had,  I’m wondering how you feel about having a family.  That’s something I’ve not really figured out about you. Do you want that?”  
  
John sat up straighter in his chair, put his mug down on the table and turned to face Sherlock.  This was something he’d been wondering how to approach him about for quite some time.  “I’ve been thinking about it and I’d very much like to have children with you. The flat is big enough for maybe two, but if you want more, we’d have to move.” John didn’t like the idea of having to move out of London and he loved their flat. “Do you want a lot of kids or just one?”  
   
Sherlock squeezed his hand and put on his thinking face. “I’m sure we could find some solution.  My trust fund is more than adequate to purchase a house. Not to mention the houses, money and titles I’ll eventually inherit.  We wouldn’t necessarily have to leave London. And I honestly don’t know how many children I want. Maybe we should just have one and then see how we cope?”

 

John nodded. “That sounds like a good solution.  Something else that I’ve been thinking about, Sherlock.  It’s the kind of work we do. It’s dangerous and you have a lot of enemies.  I’m happy to help you as a guide and as your assistant. But I worry that if we have children, they could become targets for our enemies.”

 

Sherlock thought about that for a while and agreed. “You’re right.  That is very possible and likely probable.” He turned to look at John and tightened his hold on John’s hand. “Mycroft has very powerful connections and, between the three of us, we can protect them. But only if you’re willing to forgive Mycroft and allow him to be a part of our family.”  He looked unhappily at John, who had reacted negatively at the mention of Mycroft’s name.

 

This is what the spirit guide had meant, then.  It was what he’d thought.  John became serious and looked down, letting go of Sherlock’s hand and folding both of his in his lap.  “Mycroft.  I don’t know, Sherlock.  I don’t usually bear grudges, but I’m afraid it will take some time for me to forgive him for what he did to me.

 

“He was dead set against us bonding and he let me know in no uncertain terms how unsuitable he thought I was for you.  He was the one responsible for turning me over to the Tower and for tricking me into thinking you betrayed me. That alone nearly broke my heart and I came close to just giving up.  I just don’t know how I can forgive that.

 

“I also found the photos of the omegas your mother sent you.  And I know how the rest of your family feels about me.  Mycroft made sure of it.”

 

He looked sorrowfully at Sherlock and then back down at his hands. “I regret being the cause of any troubles between you and your family. I would never want that for you and I hope you know that. You’ve never told me how you feel about defying your family to bond with me, either. Will they truly hold it against you and try to make your life difficult? ”  

 

Sherlock left his chair and knelt by John, taking his hands and squeezing them tightly.  “John, you don’t need to worry about them.  They will accept you. And even if they never did, what they think doesn’t matter. Only you matter. You’re my family and that’s all that’s important to me.  

  
”And about Mycroft, he suspected you might be a full strength guide when he turned in your name to the Tower but he had no clue you were an omega guide.  When he found out, he was horrified by what he’d done and did all he could to help me get you out of the Tower.  The relative ease of our escape was due in part to his intervention. He was able to make sure the CCTV cameras were turned away wherever we went and he also helped create a diversion in the Tower, making them think we were still inside when we were still far away.   
  
”He also asked me to express his regret for what happened.  I don’t believe he expects you to forgive him easily but at this point, simply hopes you won’t kill him.”  
  
John couldn’t help but snort out a laugh at that. He’d actually fantasised about killing Mycroft a few times, but not really seriously.  “No, I won’t kill him but I may make him sweat.” His smile was a bit evil as he thought about that.

 

Sherlock stood and went back to his chair, but kept hold of John’s hands. “Good. He is my only brother and he does have some uses.  I think he could be a good ally to our children, John.”  The doctor nodded reluctantly. It was true that Mycroft could do a lot to keep them safe. It didn’t help much, but it was something.

 

Sherlock seemed relieved and continued. “Changing the subject slightly, what will your family think of all this? Being bonded to an alpha sentinel and starting a family?” 

 

John looked at his bond mate thoughtfully. “My Mum will be thrilled to have you as a member of our family, you know.” He grinned impishly at Sherlock. “Especially if we give her grandchildren. She’s been after Harry and me for years. I think she’d pretty much given up on the both of us, to be honest.” 

 

Sherlock rolled his eyes at the mention of Harry, but smiled in amusement.  ”I’ve not met your mother yet but I’d very much like to. From what you’ve told me, you’re a lot like her. I admire her for supporting you when you had to make the tough decision to live as a beta.  I don’t know if you’ll feel the same way about my mother, though.”  His expression was wry.

 

“So I’ve heard. Your grandmother was rather succinct on the subject of your mother. I will leave everything having to do with your parents up to you and will follow your lead.

 

“In the meantime, I’ll be happy to introduce you to my mother. Though Harry will want to be there, too, just to make things difficult for me.”  Both of them sighed. “That’s siblings for you. There to make life as embarrassing as possible. We’ll just have to get through it.”    

 

“We can arrange it when we get back to London.  I’ve got to contact Lestrade and Molly about the case, as well.”  Sherlock drummed his fingers on the table thoughtfully.  
  
”Where are you with that, by the way? I never did get the chance to check in with anyone while I was on the run. I didn’t want to worry you or put Lestrade in an awkward position of having to turn me in if he figured out the Tower was after me.”

 

Sherlock lit up with excitement. “The research I did in Vancouver was enlightening but only to differentiate this case from those in Canada.  Most of the feet found on the Salish Shore were determined to come from suicides and I concur with that conclusion. I know that Molly hasn’t completed her autopsy of the feet yet, but I was able to look at the exposed bone at an almost microscopic clarity because you were acting as my guide that day. I saw the evidence of tool marks on the bones of both feet. I expect Molly will be confirming that soon.” 

  
John was fascinated.  “Is that why you asked me about missing twins in the London area? You suspect to find that they were murdered?”  
  
”Yes. Lestrade is still looking into it. The case may be simple, straightforward murder but my preliminary investigations found there are a handful of unsolved cases involving the deaths of twins in selected areas in the UK and even in Europe. And not fraternal twins. All were identical.  This could be unrelated but something tells me that things might be more complicated than that.”  
  
”You mean a serial killer of twins?  That’s very strange. And exactly the kind of case you love.”  Sherlock was glowing with exhilaration at the thought of the chase. John loved seeing him like this but rather hoped it wasn’t a serial killer. 

 

“Whatever it happens to be, I know you’ll solve it. Maybe I’ll call it “The Game’s a Foot” or something like that on the blog.”   
  
Sherlock groaned at the terrible pun. “If you do, I’ll deny that I even know your name.” John laughed loudly and Sherlock joined him. 

 

Standing, John bent over and kissed Sherlock tenderly.  The sun had set while they talked and it was getting chilly. “Time to go in.  Did Monique leave anything in the fridge for us for dinner?”  
  
”Eating again!! You’re insatiable!”  Sherlock laughed and picked up the remains of their tea to bring inside.

 

“I’m insatiable only for you!”  
  
They both giggled as they ran back into the house. 


	7. Chapter 7

They spent the rest of the night and next day alone together, reinforcing their bond in many inventive ways.  It was a wonderful time of fun, relaxation and learning about each other.  Their bond needed time to fully solidify and they would have to reinforce it periodically for the rest of their lives but it certainly would never be a chore to do so.   

While both John and Sherlock had enjoyed making their own meals and spending time alone together, they welcomed an invitation to dinner at the main house that evening. Monique had promised to cook Sherlock’s favourite dish and John was dying to find out what it was. 

The evening was chilly and dark but there were decorative torches lining the winding pathway to the house.  They were a bit early so they took their time, stopping occasionally to kiss like teenagers and just enjoy the early autumn evening. 

The cheerful lights pouring from the kitchen windows welcomed them into the house, along with the delicious smells of dinner.  Before they could open their mouths to greet Monique they were immediately engulfed by hugs and kisses. 

“Félicitations, mon chou!  I am so happy for you both! You are now bonded?  So wonderful!  Now you go in to see your Grand-maman and tell her the good news. Off with you! I am busy.”  She gave them no chance to respond but shooed them into the hallway and went back to preparing dinner. 

John and Sherlock smiled at each other and shrugged. Arm in arm, they made their way into the parlour only to stop short at the sight of not only Sherlock’s grandmother but Mycroft seated on the well-worn sofa.  John stiffened in shock and Sherlock sighed at the doctor’s distress.

”What are you doing here, Mycroft? Besides trying to ruin everything.” Sherlock angrily moved to stand in front of John as if to protect him from his brother.  John put a hand on the small of his sentinel’s back and stepped up beside him, staring defiantly at Mycroft and narrowing his eyes.  To his surprise, Mycroft looked away and fiddled with the drink in his hand.  

The awkwardness was broken by Mrs Holmes, who stood up and came over to embrace them both tightly. She stood back and took their hands and pressed them together with her own.

“Congratulations, my loves. I’m so proud of you. Please, come in and sit down. Mycroft, bring them some drinks, dear.” 

Reluctantly, they entered the parlour and sat on the loveseat that was placed perpendicular to the sofa.  Sherlock put his arm around John and the guide leaned into the warmth of his sentinel. Sherlock’s grandmother beamed at them and John began to relax. 

“We’ll have drinks, talk and then Monique will call us into dinner.  Mycroft, won’t you tell your brother and John what has been happening?”  
  
Mycroft set drinks for both of them on the table and seated himself again on the sofa by his grandmother. John crossed his arms across his chest and pointedly ignored his drink as Mycroft began speaking hesitantly. “Yes, Grand-maman.” He cleared his throat and sat up straight, looking directly at John and Sherlock.  

“There have been some major changes in the Tower in the short time you’ve been away. But before I give you the latest, I want to apologise to John.” John raised his eyebrows in surprise.  Mycroft was incredibly uncomfortable and shifted in his seat. He paled as he finally looked closely at the doctor’s face and winced at the bruises and injuries he saw there. 

“I deeply regret what has happened to you and I am terribly sorry for my part in the entire affair.  I badly misunderstood the situation and was entirely ignorant of what you represented to Sherlock.” His expression was very serious.  
  
Something in John snapped.  Ignoring Mycroft, he stood up and addressed the others. “Mrs Holmes, Sherlock.  If you will please excuse me, I’d very much like to speak with Mycroft alone in the other room. We have some things to sort out. We’ll rejoin you when we can.”  Both Sherlock and Mrs Holmes were taken aback and Mycroft looked even more uncomfortable, if possible.  

John stared at Sherlock's brother meaningfully, until he finally nodded, rose and followed the ex-soldier into another, dimly lit room across the hall.  
  
The area was clearly an office. Mycroft walked in and sat in one of the chairs while John closed the door and moved over to an attractive fireplace that had a cheery blaze crackling away. 

Mycroft turned to watch him curiously. John knew he couldn’t prevent Sherlock from listening in to this conversation and he expected they would end up discussing it later.  John had had some time to think about Sherlock’s request to forgive Mycroft but if he decided to do so, he wanted to do it on _his_ terms. 

John stood in front of the fireplace and faced Mycroft, spine militarily straight; chin high and shoulders back, the perfect picture of a soldier at ease.  Bonding for Sherlock had improved and stabilised his sentinel abilities. Logically, bonding for John should do the same for his empathic abilities.  And with practise he would undoubtedly get better.  He idly wondered if he should he look up Douglas and ask for training when he returned to London.  If it would help his work with Sherlock, he’d consider it. 

Letting a tendril of empathy out to test Mycroft’s emotional state, he discovered that he was indeed able to read emotions more quickly and with more nuance than before the bonding.   It was odd to discover that the elder Holmes was truly repentant and upset by his part in what had happened.  

But there were undercurrents of resentment, as well.  While John couldn’t actually read Mycroft’s thoughts, he could tell that the man was not so much sorry for causing pain to John but was actually horrified that his actions had almost deprived his family of the opportunity to acquiring an omega guide.   

Anger hardened his expression as he addressed Mycroft. “First of all, what is between me and Sherlock has never been nor ever will be any of your business,” John told him harshly. “If you had truly trusted your brother, you would have understood that he knew what he was doing.” 

Mycroft attempted to defend himself. “I was not in possession of all the facts. You kept what you are hidden and if I… “ 

John laughed, interrupting Mycroft. “Well spotted, that! Yes, I kept what I am hidden, for bloody good reasons! Being forced to bond to a stranger, imprisoned and raped until I conceived, are only three very good reasons to keep what I am hidden, wouldn’t you say? I think it’s the sign of someone who is sane and rather reasonable, actually.”  Reluctantly, Mycroft nodded his head in agreement.   

“And by the way, thanks for trying to make that my fault,” John said sarcastically. ‘This is not about what I did or didn’t do. It’s about what _you_ did to _me_ because you and your family judged that I was an unacceptable partner for your brother. 

“What you did was inexcusable. Beyond despicable. You didn’t care about what might happen to me and I don’t honestly think you do now, despite what you might say. I understand that. I’m basically a stranger to you.” 

Mycroft moved to speak but John held up his hand. “Be quiet. I’m not finished.” Surprisingly, the elder Holmes subsided. 

“I might be able to forgive you for turning my name into the Tower. I could possibly forgive you for lending aid to the Hunters to track me down like an animal as I ran for my life.  But I will _never_ forgive you for how you made me believe that Sherlock had betrayed me.” 

John was staring straight at Mycroft, who finally dropped his eyes and looked away. His pale, long fingered hands, so like Sherlock’s, fluttered in his lap before he clasped them together tightly. 

“I… I truly regret what I have done, John.  I honestly don’t expect you to forgive me for this. My reasons for doing as I did seem, in light of the information I currently have, petty and wrong. I was receiving pressure from our family. We had all agreed that it was in Sherlock’s best interests to bond with an omega and to force him to quit the dangerous profession that he had invented. I know now that I was wrong. For that I am very sorry.”  
  
John digested Mycroft’s words. The man certainly knew what John wanted to hear. However, it seemed that what Mycroft was really regretting was acting without having all the facts first. The doctor sighed and squeezed the bridge of his nose. His head hurt and he was beginning to feel unwell.  However, Sherlock wanted this and John would have to try to sort it out with his older brother. But Mycroft wasn’t making it exactly easy. 

The elder Holmes leaned forward in his chair and spoke more assertively, as if sensing a crack in John’s defences. His tone was somewhat smug. “You must admit, you were in the wrong as well. By concealing what you were, you were breaking the law. The Warrant of Custody was properly issued and you still have to face the Tower authorities in London when you return. There are charges of evading a warrant and assault of numerous Protectors in the lawful pursuit of the warrant. These are potentially serious allegations, John. You may also have to face civilian law enforcement for breaking and entering that flat. Your friend Lestrade won’t be able to help you with this.” 

John licked his lips and nodded, unfazed by these facts.  He had wondered what the ramifications were going to be when he and Sherlock returned to London and now he knew. John wasn’t naive enough to think the Tower would just drop the warrant or the chase. Fitzhugh would lose face and status to all the other Tower's alphas, especially as most were there to actually witness John’s escape. 

However, he felt he had plenty of justification for his actions and could defend himself against these accusations, especially if he were allowed any kind of trial. He might have to pay a fine or serve some time but it would likely be minimal. With a good solicitor, he might even get off completely. 

Satisfaction dripping from his voice at having made his point, Mycroft sat back in his chair. “However, John, as your new brother-in-law, I can make most of those charges disappear. There are many people in the government and within the Tower who owe me certain favours.  Our family can afford the best solicitors in the country to defend you if it comes down to a trial.” 

John stared at the elder Holmes impassively.  “Do you think that will be the price of my forgiveness?  Ask you to use your influence to make the charges go away?” 

“Will it work?” Mycroft gave him a hopeful smile and John found he was actually amused. 

Shaking his head, he replied, “Sorry, no.  I plan to take responsibility for what I’ve done. But thank you any way.”

  
”I didn’t think that would work, but you can’t blame me for trying. However, I will do whatever you allow me to do to help you in this matter.”   

John could tell Mycroft was being completely honest and open about this and was encouraged.  He seriously didn’t want to spend weeks trying to clear his name when he got home. If he had to do so, at least he would have some support.  Mycroft may not care about John, but he did care about his little brother and would likely do anything he asked.  

Mycroft continued.  “As for you not being appropriate for my brother, I must be honest and say that I did hold that opinion.  Sherlock is an exceptional alpha and sentinel, possibly one of the most talented of his generation. Mummy wanted a mate of equal talents and family connections to bond with him.  Finding anyone with a genius like Sherlock’s was fairly hopeless, but other… attributes could have overcome that.”  
  
”You mean your family thought that acquiring a young, beautiful, well connected but potentially empty headed omega for him was better in the long run than an unexceptional, old and scarred ex-army doctor who supported him in his ‘hobby’?” 

Mycroft’s expression was an uncomfortable grimace and he glanced away. “Essentially, that’s correct.”  

The admission didn’t hurt as much as it might have done before he’d bonded with Sherlock.  It did anger him more than it should have done, though. 

Mycroft continued. “But knowing now that you’re not only a guide but an omega has made an enormous difference.” John lowered his brows and his eyes narrowed in a frown. 

Mycroft saw this and continued tensely. “I can only speak for myself, but I am pleased and honoured to know you’re part of our family now. I truly believe that Sherlock chose his mate well and could not possibly have done better. You were right in that I should have trusted him to know what he was doing. I owe you both an apology.” 

Nodding, John took a deep breath and let it out audibly.  “Fine. I propose a truce.”  Mycroft looked up alertly and seemed interested.  “Sherlock and I have talked about this.  We hope to have children and he very much wants you to be a part of their lives.”  John could feel Mycroft’s joy at the news.  

His face hardened.  “However, I don’t trust you. You will have to earn it before I allow you to be a part of my family. That’s not going to be easy because trust comes hard for me. For a start, you will have to agree to certain conditions and they are non-negotiable.” 

Mycroft looked suspicious.  “What are these conditions?” 

“I am making these decisions unilaterally—Sherlock has had no say in this. I will not accept anything but complete obedience from you. The conditions are these. First, you will not drop into the flat without first ringing ahead.  Second, you will not put surveillance devices into the flat without express permission from the both of us. Third, you will not interfere in Sherlock’s or my life in any way, shape or form. And finally, you will not share information about us with anyone. These are only four of the conditions I want you to meet before I even consider allowing you into our lives.”   
  
Mycroft expression was mulish. John could tell he didn’t like being dictated to but that was just too bad. “You don’t have to like me because I certainly don’t like you right now. But I deserve your respect as Sherlock’s chosen bond mate and the one who will have his children.” 

John was picking up reluctance to accept from Mycroft. He also had the distinct feeling the elder Holmes was trying to find some way to weasel out of agreeing or a reason to renege once he’d agreed.  

 _Time to go in for the kill._ This was a bit of a risk, but Mycroft had signed the Officials Secrets Act, so he felt confident this wouldn’t go any further. 

“You think you know me, having read my file.  But you don’t really know a thing about me. If you agree to this, and I then find out you’ve gone against any of my conditions and end up putting Sherlock or any of my family in the kind of danger you put me in this past week, I’ll want you to remember these three words:  Ghulām Nabī Kêlay. My code name was ‘Doc’.”  John crossed his arms across his chest and waited for Mycroft’s reaction. 

Mycroft blinked at John for a few moments, a confused expression clear on his face and in his emotions.  While John watched him narrowly, comprehension finally dawned.  Mycroft paled visibly and gasped in shock as his eyes opened almost impossibly wide. “You…you were part of that operation? You were ‘Doc’?  Oh my god.”  His expression was satisfyingly horrified. 

John had taken a chance that Mycroft might know of that particular operation because of his government connections. It had been the only mission where Henderson’s team had indirectly joined forces with another organisation and there were actual written reports recording the events.  

It had been a hostage situation where a fairly small but vicious group of Taliban had captured some British VIPs and threatened to behead them if certain conditions weren’t met.  Their stronghold was well defended and the SAS had been sent in but, unknown to the soldiers, there had been a highly placed traitor positioned in Saudi Arabia who was feeding information to Al-Qaeda and the Taliban. The SAS team had been ambushed and captured.  

Henderson’s team was sent in to extract the SAS survivors and the civilians.  Hostage rescue was something they specialised in. Their team had an advantage in that Henderson and Forrester were sentinel and guide. The Taliban didn’t use sentinel/guide pairs because they were considered evil agents of Shaitan.  Unfortunately, as with the SAS, the same traitor had found out about the second rescue attempt and had informed the Taliban. The enemy had been waiting for them.  

Thankfully, half of the team had been held back in reserve.  They had enough warning from Forrester to know that there was a traitor, the team had been ambushed and the completion of the mission was up to them before they lost communication.   
  
Suddenly, John was the officer in charge of the operation.  They had to plan their attack from scratch.  Thankfully, the Taliban thought they’d got all the rescuers and didn’t expect John and his team mates. They were too busy torturing and preparing to execute Henderson and Forrester once they found out what they were.  

John didn’t have much training in the use of his empathy, but he could feel what they were putting Forrester through and he’d been frantic to rescue her.  The doctor had discovered a few things about himself that day. He  found out that not only did he have a talent for tactics, but that he could be a totally ruthless bastard. 

John planned an attack that worked flawlessly and, with his team mates, successfully infiltrated the stronghold within four hours of their leaders being taken. Thanks to Forrester’s training, John had been able to use his empathy to pinpoint the location of each person in the compound. 

With that information, John and his team became a silent, merciless and deadly force. Once their strike started they swept through the entire compound within one hour. When they were done, every Taliban in the stronghold but one was dead.  The hostages were recovered alive, though not without injury.  John was able to save Forrester’s life, but it had been a near thing.  

Before they moved out, John and his team mates used the munitions stored there to completely raze the compound to the ground.  If he could have salted the earth, he’d have done it. 

Their prisoner had had some interesting things to say. A few weeks later, the traitor, who had been identified but had run for his worthless life to hide with his Taliban friends, was found extremely and messily dead. His killers were never caught. John and his team mates had been very thorough.  

The grateful SAS and VIPs hadn’t known the real names of their rescuers, but a few of their code names had found their way into some of the reports.  The code name of ‘Doc” had featured prominently. 

John was satisfied at Mycroft’s reaction. “You have constantly underestimated me and my importance to your brother. For some reason you seem to think I’m a rather weak minded person, easy to manipulate.  You now know what I did to rescue my team mates. You know I have killed for Sherlock. Can you imagine what lengths I would go to protect my children?” 

Mycroft was still pale and he was clearly afraid.  Trying to cover this, he straightened in his chair and managed to stammer out a protest. “Are you threatening me?” 

“No. I’m warning you that I will end you if you do anything to harm me, Sherlock or any of my family by your machinations.   I think that’s more of a promise.” 

Shrinking back in his chair, Mycroft swallowed audibly and paled even more.    
  
”So are we agreed? Do you feel you can do as I ask?” John decided to pull out the big guns. “Sherlock wants this very much. Your brother loves you and thinks you can be a great ally to our children. He wants you involved in their lives.  If you agree to the truce and prove you can abide by my conditions, I’ll see that it happens.” 

All resistance went out of Mycroft and he seemed to deflate. John’s empathy could tell that he had capitulated. Mycroft raised his head and looked John straight in the eyes. 

“Yes, John. I will do as you ask. And I’ll work hard to gain your trust.  You’ll be an amazing parent to Sherlock’s children and I want to be involved. I want to be an uncle to them because they will be brilliant and incredible, with you both as their parents.  It will be a challenge and I’m very much looking forward to it.”  
  
Mycroft’s emotions were as clear on his face as they were to John’s empathy.  He was completely sincere and the doctor could feel a strong emotion of respect and admiration coming from the elder Holmes, which was a definite first. John nodded and put out his hand. Mycroft rose and accepted it. Both shook briefly and let go. 

John stepped back and looked at his watch.  Surprisingly, they’d not been in the room for more than a few minutes, though it had seemed like hours. He glanced back at Mycroft. 

“All right, then.  It seems we understand each other. Let’s get back to Sherlock and your grandmother. I’d like to hear about what’s been happening in London.”  
  
Mycroft seemed relieved as they returned to the parlour.  Sherlock was looking very satisfied but also questioning.  He’d obviously been listening but didn’t understand some of the conversation.  John indicated they’d talk later as he sat beside his bond mate.  Shelock immediately cuddled him to his side and gently kissed his temple.   
  
Sherlock had apparently kept Mrs Holmes informed of the conversation. She gave John a half smile of amusement. “Have you two sorted out your differences? I didn’t hear any breaking porcelain or smashing of mirrors, so I’m assuming you came to a civilised agreement?”  
  
John chuckled and nodded.  “Yes, ma’am, we did.  Things will be fine, thank you.”  Mycroft also indicated he agreed. “We promised to work together for the good of our family, grand-maman. Thankfully, John is a reasonable man.” 

John wanted to roll his eyes, but decided it wouldn’t be polite.  “So, Mycroft. What can you tell us about what’s happened while we’ve been away? You suggested there had been some major changes in the Tower. What’s going on?”

  
Mycroft cleared his throat and took a drink “Well, once you escaped the Tower, there was considerable confusion as to what happened. It wasn’t until morning that the ropes and harness you used to descend the Tower were discovered. They still have no idea where you’ve gone. 

”In the meantime, there have been questions from the press and some individuals in the local government about you and demands to see you. Since no one has seen you since you were taken into the Tower, some are speculating that you’ve been murdered or seriously injured.  Rumours and gossip are rampant on the television and internet. 

“There has been no comment or statement issued by the Tower. They are in complete silence about this matter. However, I’ve heard from a very reliable source that on the night of your escape, there was a major confrontation between the alphas.  

“Fitzhugh’s leadership was officially challenged and, as you know, each leader is chosen by single combat. The winner takes all.  To make a long story short, Fitzhugh was beaten and has been banished from London Tower for a set period of time. He was not seriously injured from what I’ve heard but was soundly defeated. No one knows where he has gone. 

"It's because of this upheaval that the Tower has not responded to the requests concerning your whereabouts. They are currently in transition and I'm sure things are a bit chaotic, to say the least. I expect they'll issue a statement once things are more settled. 

“The new Alpha Prime is now Moira Hayes. You may have met her guide, James Douglas.  This was apparently a planned political move to consolidate power by Douglas and Hayes and the events of the previous week simply accelerated their time table. 

“Most of what I know is hearsay, but these two apparently have some very radical and innovative ideas for bringing the Tower into the 21st century. Part of their plan is to stop monetary support to Traditionalist politicians in Parliament and withdrawing political support for the pending legislation to restrict guide and omega reforms.” 

John and Sherlock looked at each other in astonishment. This was  very welcome news.  If anything positive could have come from John’s ordeal, this was it.   His spirits soared and he grinned at Sherlock, who smiled back and squeezed his shoulders tightly in celebration.  
  
”As far as I’m concerned, this is an encouraging move on the part of the Tower’s new administration.  They are also promising more transparency and with the money they will save when they stop buying politicians, the Tower hopes to be able to offer job and educational opportunities for new guides who wish to come in for training and bonding. 

“Instead of forced bonding or competing for guides, they wish to start having organised functions where guides and sentinels meet and make their own decisions about bonding.  I suspect that more guides will start coming in voluntarily once this becomes public.  

“I don’t want to engage in hyperbole, but it seems this may be the beginnings of a new era for the London Tower and all the guides and sentinels of England.”  Mycroft’s smile was restrained but sincere. 

Mrs Holmes was thrilled. “Well, this is unprecedented and excellent news. Once the London Tower implements these changes, the other Towers will be sure to follow. 

“It seems our John was the catalyst for this. I propose a toast. To new beginnings. To new bonds of sentinels and guides, alphas, betas and omegas. And to new families.” She lifted her wine glass and the pure sound of crystal rang through the room as John, Sherlock and Mycroft touched glasses.  It was heartfelt and meant to be a blessing for John and Sherlock’s new life together.  

It was rather a soppy moment, but John couldn’t help the lift of his heart as he smiled at his soon-to-be-alpha, sentinel and bond mate.  He could feel Sherlock’s happiness at his family’s acceptance of John and excitement for the future. 

Monique called them into dinner a short time later.  John had been feeling very hungry earlier and had looked forward to the chef’s cooking. But now he was feeling off. a bit flushed and his head still hurt. He tried to do justice to the amazing dishes being served, but he just couldn’t force himself to eat. 

The confrontation with Mycroft had stressed and angered him but not enough to make him sick, especially as the outcome had been so positive. It must be his heat coming on, but he honestly couldn’t remember what it had been like the first time. 

Sherlock and Mycroft were sniping at each other and not paying much attention but Mrs Holmes was watching him carefully. After he’d pushed his food around on his plate for about ten minutes without eating anything, she reached over and felt his forehead.  Sherlock stopped in the middle of what he was saying and stared at John in consternation.  
  
Mrs Holmes sat back and looked at him in concern. ”John, dear, you have a slight fever.  Does your head and stomach hurt? I’ve noticed you’re not eating.” 

“I’m sorry but I’m not feeling very hungry right now. In fact I am feeling rather ill.” 

Sherlock stood up and came around the table. “Do you want to go back to the cottage?”

John’s stomach started to cramp. ”Yes. I think it might be best.”  He stood up quickly and turned to Mrs Holmes. 

“I’m so very sorry. Please apologise to Monique for me.”

Mrs Holmes rose and embraced him. “Yes, I can tell your heat is coming on. I remember all too well.  It’s best you be off now.  I’ll send Sherlock to you in a couple of hours.  You’ll be feeling better by then, I’m sure, once this part has run its course. 

“I will check in with you both in a few days. I’ll make sure Monique brings over food that’s easy to digest once you’re able to eat again.  Just remember what I told you and how important it is to remain hydrated. There’s a small fridge in the master bedroom filled with bottled water.”  John had not noticed it but would be sure to look for it. It actually sounded heavenly.  He was feeling a bit chilled like he always did when he was slightly feverish. A hot shower and a cosy bed with a cool bottle of water sounded absolutely wonderful.

Sherlock saw him to the back door. “Are you sure you don’t want me to come with you?” 

John kissed him and smiled. “I’m sure, luv. Unfortunately, I remember this part of being in heat all too well and you seriously don’t want to be there.” John gave him another quick kiss. 

Sherlock turned the kiss into an embrace and whispered in his ear, “All right. I’ll see you in a couple of hours then. If you need me, the phone number to the main house is on the kitchen table.”  John reluctantly let go of Sherlock and waved to him before he went back into the main house. 

The cramping intensified as John made his way to the cottage and he quickened his steps, afraid he’d have an accident before he made it to the toilet.  Thankfully he reached the cottage and got upstairs without any trouble. 

His skin had begun to feel itchy and strange and he disliked the feel of his clothes. Quickly discarding them in the bedroom, he made it to the toilet just in time.  It seemed everything he had eaten in the last day decided it was going to be flushed out one way or another as fast as it could.  

Technically he knew this was the beginning of his heat. His body was clearing out everything in preparation for the mucus plug in his vaginal opening to be safely discarded.  He hoped everything would work properly. It had been years since his last heat.  It normally wasn’t recommended for heat to be suppressed for so long, but he’d heard of longer suppression without harm. 

Once his system was purged, he showered and put on Sherlock’s silk robe. It felt wonderful and sensual against his skin.  He found additional blankets in the airing cupboard and placed them on the bed.  Extra towels were probably a good idea, so he brought them in.  It was likely they’d end up using both bedrooms so he made sure there were extra sheets and towels in the second bedroom, too.  

Heat brought on excessive lubrication which was very messy and the hormones also made it difficult to think clearly once things started, so he tried to think of everything that they might need before he got to that point. Both of them would be slaves to their hormones for days. 

He found the fridge Mrs Holmes had mentioned and brought up extra water from the kitchen to the second bedroom, as well.  He had no idea how much mess they’d be making, but he suspected it would be considerable. Thankfully there was a washer-dryer in the cottage, so they could do their own linens.  He shuddered at the embarrassing thought of Monique or one of Mrs Holmes housekeepers having to do all their dirty laundry. John was a very private man when it came to something like this. 

Finishing all the preparations that he could think to do, he made his way upstairs and into bed to wait for his alpha.  Through the windows, he could see the distant flash of lighting in the darkness and heard a very faint rumble of thunder. Storms were lovely and there was nothing more he enjoyed than cuddling in bed and listening to the thunder and rain drumming on the roof.

Belatedly he remembered that he’d packed the novel he’d been reading at the flat with him and settled back to enjoy it.  However, concentrating was more difficult than he’d thought it would be. The fever wasn’t gone quite yet and he felt alternately flushed and chilled.  His skin was still feeling a bit odd, though the silk robe had helped a lot.  On top of everything, he was now definitely itchy and sensitive between his legs.

Putting his hand down to his opening, he rubbed slightly and about jumped out of his skin at the electric feeling his fingers provoked. The muscle was softer than normal and incredibly sensitive.  Deciding to be adventurous, he pushed two fingers in easily and felt around experimentally. Immediately he found that the entrance to his vagina was open and wet. His abdomen throbbed in arousal at the sensation and he trembled, withdrawing his fingers and absently wiping them on the sheet. Not quite ready but almost there.

Sighing with frustration, he cuddled into the pillows to wait for Sherlock. 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would very much like to thank all of you who have commented and left kudos. I can't tell you how very much I appreciate you taking the time and letting me know you liked this or pointing out a mistake. I'm overwhelmed by your kindness and thank you so much.
> 
> Enjoy. More to come after this.

It didn’t take long for him to fall asleep. All the activity of the previous few days combined with the stress of his heat exhausted him and he fell into a deep sleep very quickly. While he slept, the sounds of the approaching storm intertwined with his dreams of heat and writhing bodies.  They entertained his sleeping mind for quite some time before he woke suddenly at a deafening clap of thunder that sounded like it was right over his head.

Sitting up quickly, he blinked sleep out of his eyes and looked around. The house was black as pitch and deathly quiet in contrast to the enormous crash of sound that still seemed to be reverberating in his ears. Either a fuse was blown or the power was cut from the storm.  The bedroom windows were open, allowing cold wind and rain in, so he slipped out of bed to close them.  He still had Sherlock’s robe on but he was now very chilled. Putting on some soft tracksuit bottoms and a vest, he slipped the robe back on and felt his way down the stairs and to the kitchen. 

The occasional flashes of lightning gave him enough illumination to find his way relatively easily.  Searching through the cupboards, he found a small torch he’d remembered seeing earlier and switched it on.  The number to the main house was on the kitchen counter. He picked up the phone only to find that it was out, too.  That wasn’t unexpected but it would mean he’d have to walk through the rain to find Sherlock unless his mobile worked.  

Dashing back up the stairs, he clutched at the handrail as a wave of warmth and dizziness swept over him.  His heat was really starting and he had to concentrate hard to make it into the bedroom. 

Pawing through his discarded clothing, he found his mobile and turned it on. Miraculously, there was an actual signal. If the phone at the main house wasn’t out, too, he could contact Sherlock.  He dialled the number to the house and waited for the ring. 

Mrs Holmes answered immediately. “I’m very sorry to be calling so late, Mrs Holmes, but is Sherlock there?” 

“John?  Sherlock left here about fifteen minutes ago, right before the storm began. Are you sure he’s not at the cottage?”  
  
Startled and a bit confused, John stood and headed back down the stairs, heart pounding. “The power and phone are out. I didn’t look for him but if he were here, I would have thought he’d let me know.  I’m not thinking very clearly at the moment.”  
  
”You poor dear. Everything is fine here but I’m worried that Sherlock isn’t there yet. Do you feel up to checking the house for him? Please stay on the line and let me know what you find.”  
  
”Okay,” John answered absently and quickly looked in the two front rooms, rechecked the kitchen, the back garden and patio. “No sign of him. I’ll check the front garden.”  He raced to the front and threw open the door, heart in his throat. Sherlock was lying face down in the mud at the bottom of the stairs. 

Dropping his mobile, John didn’t remember how he got down the stairs but came to himself as he knelt in the mud by Sherlock’s side, rain drumming hard on his head and shoulders. The doctor’s hands were rock steady as he carefully moved his bond mate into the recovery position, noting that there was a strong pulse and unimpeded breathing. He also saw bloody streaks from what seemed to be minor injuries on his sentinel’s forehead, nose and mouth as they were washed away by the pounding rain.  

John wiped futilely at the cold water running into his eyes and streaming down his face. Had Sherlock slipped and fallen in the mud, knocking himself unconscious?  But the front of his coat as well as the dirt and grass beneath him were drier than the surrounding area, aside from what had leaked through his clothing and under his body. 

Sherlock had fallen before the rain started, about ten minutes before.   And the injuries were consistent with fighting.  John looked at one of Sherlock’s hands and confirmed split knuckles and abrasions. Sherlock had fought someone. But who?  Mycroft? That wasn’t likely and was frankly absurd. 

Holding the torch close and with the help of the constant flashes of lightning, John cautiously and systematically triaged Sherlock’s injuries. Aside from the superficial facial cuts and bruising, he found nothing serious. Carefully running his fingers along Sherlock’s neck, he felt something embedded in the flesh at the side of his throat. He pulled it free and examined it, gasping in recognition.  

It was the type of tranquilliser dart used by the London Tower sentinels. An enemy from London was somewhere close by, had fought Sherlock and had a weapon. Who could it be?  A Protector sent to track them?  But why?  John was no longer in the London Tower’s jurisdiction.  In an instant John’s mind automatically slipped into combat mode, slightly overriding the heat hormones. 

Was the enemy still there?  Or were they also injured and unconscious somewhere? Sherlock was an amazing fighter so it was hard to believe the other person wasn’t hurt. Even darted and in a short time, the sentinel would have done major damage. 

John’s gaze darted about in the darkness, looking for intruders and finding nothing, though it was hard to be sure because rain was pouring down and obscuring his vision. He would have to check for a body but Sherlock was hurt.  His alpha came first. 

It was best to get inside, so he gathered Sherlock up carefully and hoisted him over his good shoulder. For all he looked thin and lanky, Sherlock’s body consisted of a lot of muscle that weighed a considerable amount. Despite the heavy weight, it took only a moment to get him up, stabilised and onto the stone steps.  John staggered through the front door, streaming water and mud and kicked it closed against the wind and rain. He’d lock it in a moment. 

Carefully depositing Sherlock on the front room sofa, he promised himself that he’d apologise to Mrs Holmes for the mess later. Grabbing some tea towels from the kitchen, dripping water and mud all the way, John navigated back through the darkness to Sherlock and began to wipe off the blood and blot his face and hair. 

Multiple lightning flashes revealed that the wounds on his face were superficial but would probably bruise significantly.  Sherlock was very cold and wet but his pulse and respiration were fine. There was a rug draped over the back of the sofa and John pulled it down to tuck around Sherlock’s shivering body. 

The sentinel would probably be out for another half hour or so, though he was showing signs of fighting the tranquilliser and trying to awaken.  Sherlock moaned and his eyelids twitched a bit. Maybe his previous drug history had some positive aspects. John was too worn out to care.  _Why was nothing ever easy?_  

Sitting back on his heels, John took a deep breath and inhaled his alpha’s scent. It calmed him even though his mind was becoming fuzzy again. Thankfully, Sherlock would be fine, but who had done this?  John knew he wasn’t thinking very clearly and tried to send out his empathy to search the area for danger, but for some reason it refused to cooperate. 

He couldn’t direct it away from his bond mate no matter how hard he tried. Was his empathy instinctively trying to protect or help Sherlock in some way?  Or maybe the heat hormones were messing with that, also.  John’s mind was too confused and muddled to work on the problem.  

Shrugging to himself, he stood, vaguely remembering the mobile he’d dropped on the front stairs. It was getting wet and he wasn’t sure if it was waterproof. Mrs Holmes must be worried sick and he should really ring her back. Also, what had he done with the torch? He patted the pockets in the sodden robe, but he couldn’t find it. Had he left it outside, too?  _Damn_. He was really unfocused. Turning, he moved through the pitch black room toward the front hall but then stopped dead in his tracks, heart racing. 

The door was standing wide open. But that was impossible, wasn’t it? Even though his mind was far from clear, he was certain he remembered kicking it closed when he brought Sherlock inside. Maybe the hormones were making him hallucinate?  He’d not been through heat for years, so he didn’t really know for sure. John shut his eyes tight and opened them again. The door was still open.  _Fuck._ The enemy must not be unconscious outside but somewhere close.  
  
He peered around carefully, searching for movement or an unidentified shape or figure in the blackness of the hall.  Nothing much was visible, even with the occasional lightning flash.  It was very wet outside and if someone had come in, there’d be foot prints, wouldn’t there?   But not necessarily. The carpeting inside the front door wouldn’t show that in this poor light. It would be difficult to tell if it were damp even by touch, so he didn’t bother to check.  

But someone had opened the door, hadn’t they? Were they inside the house or were they still hiding outside?   Preparing himself for possible conflict, John took a few slow steps closer to the door, his bare feet soundless on the carpet and craned his neck to look outside. 

The stone of the porch was wet and he could see no foot prints or anyone outside. Maybe the wind had just blown the door open. _That made sense. That must be it._ John huffed out a breath and relaxed a bit. 

Eyeing the mobile and torch on the front step, John moved confidently forward and bent to pick them up. He’d just managed get them both when he heard a faint noise behind him. Spinning in place, still crouched, he saw the silhouette of a man standing in the hallway leading to the kitchen. The man had his hand on the railing to the stairs and had moved himself so that he was blocking John’s path to the front room. Sherlock? How had he got up from the sofa?  

“Hello, John.” The smooth, well modulated tones belonged to Colin Fitzhugh. “I knew that if I followed that fat fool Mycroft, he’d lead me to you eventually. And it looks like I got here just in time.” 

Heart sinking in dread, John straightened and took a step back. Shaking his head in denial, his mind refused to register what was right in front of him.  This wasn’t possible. How could this be happening? But it was true. The former Alpha Prime was standing right in front of him.  

Taking a deep breath, he threw his shoulders back and raised his head high. “What the bloody hell are you doing here?”  
  
”Why do you think I’m here, John?  I want you and I’m taking you. Once we’re bonded, the Tower will rescind my banishment and I can then win my way back into the leadership, with you as Guide Prime. We'll make history together.”  The former Alpha Prime was illuminated briefly by a flash of lightning. John could see his left eye was nearly swollen shut and he had quite a few cuts and contusions on his face. It seemed Sherlock had given as well as he’d got.  Unfortunately, the lightning also revealed the tranquilliser dart gun in Fitzhugh’s hand.  
  
John’s expression tightened and his eyes narrowed.  He had to take down Fitzhugh before he shot John or hope that Mrs Holmes would fetch some help since he’d not stayed on the line with her. Fitzhugh was a typical alpha in that he liked to hear the sound of his own voice, so John needed to keep him talking.

”It’s too late, Fitzhugh. Sherlock and I are bonded.” His heart still pounded and he was starting to tremble with cold.  Something needed to happen soon. 

“That won’t matter once I get you far enough away from Holmes.  You’re newly bonded only as sentinel and guide, not alpha and omega. With some time and distance, that bond will dissolve. I’ll keep you isolated until that happens and then I can bond with you.” He inhaled deeply and smiled nastily. “Also, you’re starting your heat. By the time anyone can catch up with you, I’ll have you well fucked and pregnant.” 

Fury nearly blinded John.  Who the fuck did this bloody tosser think he was? That this man could come into this house and say these incredibly crude things to him?  His instincts barely stopped John from throwing himself at Fitzhugh and trying to destroy him utterly.  The heat was interfering with his coordination as well as his thought processes. 

Those same instincts that kept him from engaging with the sentinel were also telling him not to let the man touch him or he’d be in serious trouble. It was important to keep his temper and try to think straight until he could figure out what to do. He could turn and run for the main house, but Sherlock would be at Fitzhugh’s mercy.  Leaving Sherlock alone was unthinkable. 

Fitzhugh raised the gun and pointed it at John.  “My car is parked on the main road. Move or I’ll shoot you.”  
  
John couldn’t help but laugh. “Go ahead. If you shoot me, you’ll have to haul me through the mud and rain for half a mile or so and I’m no lightweight.  Something tells me you’re too much of a lazy bastard to do that.” 

Fitzhugh was still for a moment. “You know what, you’re right. I don’t want to haul your arse, delectable though it may be, all that way. You’ll be coming with me willingly.”  The hallway began to fill with alpha pheromones and John staggered as his knees literally buckled.  Fitzhugh was full-out projecting his alpha status and John’s instinct as an omega was to go to him, kneel and obey.   Static filled his brain and he took a step forward. 

Fitzhugh chuckled. “That’s it. Come to your alpha like a good little omega.” 

John resisted with all his might and stopped himself before he could go any further, thinking of his true alpha, lying helpless and unaware in the other room. His resolve strengthened at the thought of Sherlock and his mind cleared enough to step backward.  

“It’s not going to work, Fitzhugh.  Go home before I hurt you.”  
  
Fitzhugh snarled a curse and shoved the weapon into a holster on his belt.  Even though he’d been half expecting it, John couldn’t move fast enough to avoid the alpha’s rush.  They fell backwards through the doorway and outside onto the slippery front step.  All the air was punched out of John’s lungs but he was able to get his knees up and throw Fitzhugh to one side.  He rolled away and ended up on his hands and knees, trying to catch his breath and crawl toward the house at the same time. 

A cold hand grabbed his ankle and he fell flat on his stomach as his leg was pulled out from under him.  Fitzhugh dragged him backward on the slick surface as John tried to scramble away but the breath was driven from his body again as all of Fitzhugh’s weight came down on his bruised back. The sentinel was almost two stone heavier and at least six inches taller and John was trapped.  

Fitzhugh ground his pelvis into John’s arse and, to John’s horror, his body actually betrayed him. He had always scoffed at the idea as presented in torrid romances, but it was hideously true. His body didn’t care that it wasn’t Sherlock on top of him as his hips rose without conscious direction from him and pushed back into the hardness he could feel between at least four layers of clothing.  Lubrication began to drench John’s tracksuit bottoms as his body readied itself for intercourse with an alpha. Apparently any alpha would do for his traitorous body. 

He let out an agonized, breathless moan in protest and again tried to pull himself out from under the alpha but his muscles felt like wet noodles. Christ, he hoped Fitzhugh didn’t try to bite him. Thunder crashed and the house literally shook around them. In the flash of light, John saw with amazement that Sherlock had fallen from the sofa and was trying to crawl toward them. His pale eyes were wild with fright and rage.  John reached out for him but that was all he could do. He still hadn’t quite caught his breath and couldn’t even call out for his alpha.  
  
”Oh, yeah! That’s brilliant!” Fitzhugh panted into his ear and ground down again. “I’m going to knot you here right in front of Holmes and he won’t be able to do a goddamn thing about it.”  He pawed at John’s trousers and pulled them down.  

Despair and fear had nearly overwhelmed John but at the sight of his sentinel trying to reach him, fury filled adrenalin surged through his body instead. His muscles began to obey him again as energy coursed through his veins.  Taking advantage of Fitzhugh’s momentary distraction as the alpha tried to open his trousers, John twisted in his grip and punched the alpha in the face as hard as he could. Fitzhugh grabbed at his bleeding nose with one hand and tried to restrain John again with the other, but it was too late. 

John took the alpha’s hand in both of his and twisted the index finger. Fitzhugh howled as his bones snapped like a twig. He then rotated the injured limb and flipped Fitzhugh off his body.  With another agonised scream of rage and pain, Fitzhugh crashed backward onto the stairs and slid head first down into the muddy front garden. 

John staggered to his feet and pulled up his trousers. Somehow he managed to scrabble inside the house, slam and lock the door just as Fitzhugh smashed into it from the outside, cursing and screaming.  The door shuddered and it was clear it wouldn’t hold for long against the crazed sentinel’s assault. Had Fitzhugh gone primal?  

The torch was lying by the front door beside his dropped mobile. Somehow they’d both survived being damaged by the fight. Hands shaking with reaction, John picked up the phone and stumbled into the parlour where Sherlock had nearly made it to the hallway.   
  
Breathing hard, he thumped to his knees beside his bond mate; wrapped his arms around him and helped him sit up against a chair.  Sherlock was mostly awake but his muscles weren’t completely under control yet and his limbs flopped limply. Thankfully, the mobile was still working. He’d have to kiss Forrester when he saw her again. 

Dialling the phone, John gave it to Sherlock and pulled his hand up to his ear. The door shook violently at another heavy blow. Clearly it wasn’t holding up to Fitzhugh and John needed to get ready to protect them. 

“Can you speak?” he asked hurriedly and Sherlock nodded, gasping with effort. “Then talk to your grandmother. Tell her what’s happening and get Mycroft and the police over here.” Quickly, he ran back into the hall just as the door slammed open. Fitzhugh was standing on the threshold,  holding his injured hand and cursing foully. 

“You stupid, fucking bitch!  You broke my finger! I’ll teach you to …” 

“No!” John’s shout would have made his troop sergeant proud and Fitzhugh stopped dead in his tracks.  “Who the hell do you think you are?  I’m not a bloody possession you can just take because you want it! 

“I was serving in Afghanistan while you were acting as a glorified rent-a-cop for the London Tower. You don’t get to tell me what to do about anything!”  Fitzhugh blinked at him and, in the face of John’s rage, involuntarily took a step backward. 

“I’m giving you one last chance,” John growled hoarsely. He was so angry he was having trouble speaking. “Leave now and I won’t press charges against you for GBH.” 

Fitzhugh sneered. “You can’t be serious. I don’t give a shit who or what you were. All you are now is a hole to fuck and a way to get back into the Tower. If you don’t come with me, I’ll kill him.” Fitzhugh awkwardly drew the gun and aimed it at Sherlock. 

John scoffed at him. “Go ahead. Tranquilise him again. It won’t hurt him and I’ll still kick your arse.” 

Lightning flashed again and John froze.  Fitzhugh was holding a real gun, not a tranquilliser pistol. 

The former Alpha Prime was smiling nastily, blood staining his teeth. ”I see you now realise just how serious I am about this.”  
  
John judged the distance and knew he couldn’t prevent Fitzhugh from shooting the detective.  Sherlock seemed barely able to move and John’s ability to react was compromised by all the hormones coursing through his system and the pheromones thick in the air. 

Nearly blinded by fury, John gathered his empathy and deliberately focused it on Fitzhugh.  “This is your last chance, you useless piece of shit.” 

“You come with me now, or he’s dead!” 

White hot rage turned to ice cold anger. John deliberately focussed his empathy and, for the second time in his life, used it as a weapon on another human being. Because of the heat hormones, his empathy was weaker than normal or Fitzhugh would have died. As it was, the sentinel let out a strangled moan and clutched at his head, staggering backwards.

John’s vision dimmed for a moment and he found himself swaying on his feet. Using his empathy like that seriously sapped his reserves.  As his vision cleared slowly, John stepped forward to take advantage of Fitzhugh’s momentary disorientation and knocked the weapon from the alpha’s hand. It skidded away and slid into the hallway, hitting the bottom of the wooden stairs with a clatter. 

As he struck at the alpha again, Fitzhugh recovered much faster than expected, blocking John’s blow and grabbing his arm. Spinning John so that his back was pressed against the alpha’s front, Fitzhugh pinned John’s arms to his sides.  John stomped on his foot and bent forward, taking them both to the floor.  

 John fell on his right side with Fitzhugh on top of him. He twisted and kicked out but his blow was glancing at best.   Fitzhugh had a good grip on his robe and pulled hard.  Even with only one good hand, the alpha was still stronger than John and his touch and scent were affecting John’s coordination.  

They struggled, rolling back and forth on the hall carpet until Fitzhugh finally got John on his belly, grabbed at the nape of John’s neck and managed to get a good grip.  John cried out in shock and went limp.  No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t dislodge the hold. He managed to get his hands up and tried to pry the fingers loose but Fitzhugh shook his unresisting body and he went limp again.  Fitzhugh took the opportunity to pick up the gun in his injured hand and aimed it awkwardly at Sherlock again. 

“Now get up, you omega slut.  We’re going to the car and you’ll behave yourself.”  
  
Trying anything to stall for time, John protested. “I’m not dressed properly and you’ll need my passport to get back into the country, won’t you?”  
  
“I don’t give a fuck. We’re not going back to England right now anyway.  Now move!”  Helpless in the alpha’s hold, John got to his feet and took a step forward.  Fitzhugh was impatient and in considerable pain so his grip was cruel and bruising on the back of John’s neck as he forced the doctor toward the door. Thunder was still crashing around the house, but the rain was finally slowing. 

There was nothing else he could do but wait for his opportunity to escape. Resisting was useless but he did his best. He tried to turn his head to find Sherlock but he couldn’t even do that.  

Nearly sobbing with frustration, the doctor had to allow himself to be marched down the stone steps and into the muddy drive. Leaving Sherlock alone nearly ripped him in two and he began to physically ache with each step he took away from his sentinel. The freezing mud squelched between his bare toes and the gravel that made up the road bruised his feet as he staggered forward under Fitzhugh’s control.  

The pace was punishing and his breath came in fast white plumes as the temperature continued to drop.  John couldn’t remember feeling so completely helpless before in his entire life and he hated it.  He hated Fitzhugh with everything that he was and he vowed he would kill him the first chance he got. 

The rain was a light mist by the time they approached the main house. It was a dark shape that loomed off to their right as they made their way down the driveway.  They must have lost their power shortly after he’d called Mrs Holmes.  Was her phone still working and had Sherlock been able to reach her? Had he made himself understood?  It seemed that might not be the case.  

Biding his time, John kept moving as slowly as he could manage to get away with. Fitzhugh’s grip was incredibly brutal and painful and he pushed or shook John hard every time he stumbled. Otherwise, the alpha mostly ignored John as they walked and kept cursing and muttering to himself about how he would make Douglas and Hayes very sorry.  

John tuned him out also and tried to pick his way as carefully as possible but he couldn’t see a damn thing. John’s feet were getting sliced up by the sharp stones as well as bruised. The mud packed into the cuts would cause trouble quickly without immediate medical care and John now had a horror of infection.  If he couldn’t get away from Fitzhugh quickly, he knew he’d get no care at all. 

Anguish and despair tried to overwhelm him but he managed to keep them at bay. Blindly he trudged along, trying to get his brain to work properly.  The fresh, cold air had cleared his head somewhat, but his mind kept running around in circles and mostly focused on trying to find a way back to Sherlock.  He was so wrapped up in his thoughts that it took a moment to realise they’d stopped.  

When John managed to look up and squint through the drizzle, it was to find Mycroft standing in front of them, holding an umbrella stiffly at his side.  Hope flared up but also an instinctive fear for a family member in danger.  
  
Gasping in the cold air, John tried to warn the elder Holmes. “Mycroft, he has a gun.  Get away! Call the police!”  
  
Mycroft ignored him and stared steadily and impassively at Fitzhugh, who was sneering at him in contempt. John could tell Mycroft was frightened but it was not at all evident from his expression. 

“So, Colin. I see you have reverted to type. Stealing what isn’t yours, just like you stole the leadership of the Tower all those years ago.”  Fitzhugh literally growled at Mycroft, but didn’t deny it.

”I did what I needed to do to make sure the Tower had proper leadership. You’re a fucking hypocrite, Holmes. You agreed at the time and I won’t apologise for it at this late date. With Watson as my guide, I can regain the leadership and correct things before that fucking bint goes too far with her reforms. Those sodding cowards in Parliament won’t stay bought and I need to get back there and sort them out fast. 

“Now move out of the way, you stupid beta! I haven’t shot you yet out of respect for our former alliance, but that doesn’t mean I won’t.” 

Mycroft didn’t budge. “Let him go, Colin. You know you can’t possibly get away with this. The police are on their way.”  

Fitzhugh’s hold tightened on John’s neck and the guide let out an involuntary cry of pain.  Mycroft’s gaze switched to the doctor’s in concern and then quickly back to Fitzhugh, who had raised the weapon. 

“Last chance, Holmes. Move or I’ll kill you.”  John held his breath, tense and worried about what might happen. He couldn’t see as well in the dark as the sentinels could but he watched in bewilderment as Mycroft simply stood still and closed his eyes. 

Suddenly, the lights on the main house came on, along with a very bright outdoor light that was aimed directly at the driveway.  Fitzhugh shrieked in pain as the light stabbed into his dilated pupils and he covered his eyes with the hand that had held John immobile.

Mycroft took the opportunity to jam the pointed end of the umbrella into Fitzhugh’s gut.  The alpha gagged and bent over in agony.  John had danced back out of Fitzhugh's reach, wondering what he could do to help even though he was stiff with cold and exhausted.  
  
”Run, John!  Get to Sherlock, barricade the doors and stay there!”  Mycroft used the umbrella to hit Fitzhugh on the back of the head, but the sentinel was beginning to recover and threw himself at Mycroft. The elder Holmes gracefully dodged the alpha who then slipped and fell face first into the mud. 

“John! Run!!”  Mycroft’s voice was tense as he turned to look at John.  Fitzhugh was on his feet and aiming his gun at Mycroft’s back. 

John pointed and shouted, “Look out!”  
  
The gun went off but the bullet missed the beta sentinel. Mycroft kicked out and scored a hit, but it was clear he wasn’t as strong or as experienced a fighter as John or Sherlock. He wasn’t going to win.  
  
”I can handle this! Go! Now!”  Mycroft turned back to Fitzhugh. John went.  

He pelted down the side of the path, choosing to stay in the grass and ignoring the pain in his damaged feet. Slipping once, he fell and slid on his face but scrambled back up and kept running.  A shot rang out behind him and he spun around and stopped, heart in his throat. The house was still blazing with light and he saw a figure coming after him.  It wasn’t Mycroft. _Mycroft!_  
  
He didn’t have time for grief. Adrenaline coursed through him and he continued his sprint toward the cottage, running as fast as his bruised feet and frozen legs could carry him. Mycroft had bought him some time and he didn’t want his sacrifice to be in vain. 

The cottage was just ahead, the lights shining benevolently from the windows. John had nearly made it to the front steps when he was overtaken by Fitzhugh and grabbed around the waist. He cried out in shock as he was lifted into the air.  John struggled and struck out; landing a hard blow to the side of Fitzhugh’s head with an elbow that rocked the alpha’s head back.  He let go of John with a grunt and the doctor landed on his hands and knees in the mud.  

The soaking wet robe got in his way and he caught his foot in it as he tried to get up again. Fitzhugh missed his grab and overbalanced, tripping over John’s body and into some foliage planted at the base of the cottage.  Cursing, the alpha fought his way clear of the broken branches to turn on John again, who had just managed to get to his feet.  
  
Somehow Fitzhugh still had the gun and was pointing it at John.  Panting for breath and nearly blinded with mud, John staggered backward, blinked and tried to wipe his face clear. It was pretty much a hopeless task.   
  
Fitzhugh was breathing hard, too and his expression was a snarl of anger and hate.  He looked barely human and it was apparent to John that the sentinel had gone feral.  Even guides could be killed by an alpha sentinel who was in this state. A sentinel who was feral was incredibly dangerous, uncontrollable and to be avoided at all costs. 

Unfortunately, John couldn’t avoid Fitzhugh, who was advancing on him with murder in his eyes.  

The ex-soldier readied himself for a final confrontation.  Centring himself, he flexed his knees and balanced on the balls of his feet, relaxed and ready to fight to his death.  He thought of his love for his bond mate and cleared his mind for battle, focusing on his enemy with everything he had. 

Attention totally on Fitzhugh, the doctor blocked out all distractions and had just decided on his plan of attack when a lanky, wild haired, dark figure slammed into Fitzhugh’s side, making him drop the gun and bringing him hard to the ground.

Sherlock!  John’s alpha had somehow shaken off the effects of the drug and was now in a fierce struggle with Fitzhugh. 

Both were drenched with mud and neither could get a good hold of the other, so they got to their feet and began to trade blows in earnest.  Fitzhugh had the disadvantage in that he had gone primal, but Sherlock was focused and fighting with all his incredible genius and talent.  Each blow was calculated and cunning, delivered with incredible power, but Fitzhugh was tough. 

Because the former Alpha Prime was feral, he could ignore pain and was able to take much more punishment than he normally could do.  Staring wide eyed at the two alphas fighting over him, John thought he could hear bones breaking and knew it was possibly going to be a fight to the death.  

That shocked him out of his immobility and he started to search for the gun.  The storm was pretty much over and since the power had come back on at the cottage, the lights pouring out of the windows provided some illumination for his hunt.  

Sherlock delivered a two-handed blow to Fitzhugh’s head that should have knocked his head clean off. It simply staggered the alpha for a moment and he came back with wild blows that, if they had connected, would have caved in Sherlock’s ribs. Thankfully, Sherlock was easily able to avoid the blows and got in a strike to the chest and throat that rocked the other sentinel.  
  
Both were breathing heavily and circling each other like wild animals.  John watched them carefully as he continued to look for the gun. He had thought to try to come to Sherlock’s aid, but knew it would not be appreciated. These were two proud alpha sentinels, fighting over a prospective bond mate. The situation was about as primitive as it got. Wisely John stayed out of it as the two came together again with a crash, reminding him of battling rams.  
  
The gun had been knocked clear when Sherlock had slammed into Fitzhugh.  John moved away and toward the area where they'd first clashed.  His eye caught a metallic gleam under a shrub and he scooped the weapon up.  Spinning in place he turned just in time to see Sherlock get a hard blow to the shoulder that made his arm go limp. John sucked in a breath in sympathy and worry. It looked like the blow might have dislocated his shoulder and that would be a deadly injury in this fight. John gripped the gun and prepared himself to interfere with deadly force if necessary. 

Rotating his arm and dancing agilely back, Sherlock avoided a follow up blow that nearly overbalanced Fitzhugh.  The younger sentinel leapt up and delivered an amazingly powerful roundhouse kick to the head that had John gasping in admiration and jealousy. It was a thing of beauty that the doctor could never do because his damn legs were too short.  

The kick put Fitzhugh down hard and Sherlock landed, perfectly balanced beside the semi-conscious man who lay on his back in the mud. 

It was clear that Fitzhugh was not getting up again any time soon—at least under his own power.  He spat blood at Sherlock and laughed.  His voice was harsh and grating from his bruised throat. “Well, it seems you win the little slut, much good he’ll do you. He’s too old and ugly to give you any babies.  You saw that he wanted me rather than you, though, how he rutted against me…”

John had had enough. Nearly blind with rage again, he pointed the gun at Fitzhugh. “Shut the fuck up or so help me…” 

The defeated alpha laughed again and spat more blood. John wondered if some ribs were broken. He sure hoped so. Grinning, mouth bloody, Fitzhugh sneered, “You’ll what, you stupid cunt? Shoot me? You don’t have the bottle to kill me in cold blood.”  

John’s face hardened at the taunt and he moved closer.  
  
Sherlock looked a bit worried. “John. Don’t.” 

For the first time, John ignored his alpha’s order and continued to limp toward the fallen alpha. Casually, as if he were discussing the weather, he remarked, “Do you know he’s shot your brother? I don’t know if he’s alive or dead. But Mycroft saved my life.” Sherlock gasped and took a step toward John.   
  
”All the more reason to restrain him and get help for Mycroft.” Sherlock had moved closer and put out both hands beseechingly.  “John. Please don’t.” 

But John wasn’t hearing him. Fitzhugh began to look a bit worried. “Control your omega, Holmes,” he snarled, nervously.

”Shut up, Fitzhugh, or he’ll kill you. I’m not kidding.” Sherlock was speaking calmly and carefully, like he was trying to soothe a wild animal. John idly wondered why as he finally reached the fallen alpha.  
  
John’s left hand was steady as a rock as he stood over Fitzhugh, aiming the weapon directly between the sentinels’ eyes.  The rest of him was shaking but it wasn’t from fear. It was from fighting the desire to utterly rend and destroy the creature lying at his feet. John wanted to kill this waste of human flesh more than anything he’d ever wanted to do in his entire life. Nobody would miss him. It would be _so_ easy just to squeeze the trigger and put this piece of filth down permanently…. 

A feeling of warmth and love began to encompass his exhausted mind. It jerked the doctor away from his murderous fugue and he turned his head toward his bond mate.  Sherlock was, for the first time, purposefully trying to project his emotions to his guide. Trying to distract John from something he might deeply regret later.  

John was pretty certain he wouldn’t regret it, but he suddenly remembered what his own spirit animal had told Sherlock. ‘ _You must help him moderate his absolute ruthlessness in the protection of those he loves.’_  

John lowered the weapon and both Sherlock and Fitzhugh let out huge sighs of relief. 

“Okay. I get it. I won’t kill you now, but if you try anything while Sherlock ties you up, I’ll shoot both your kneecaps. It won’t kill you but you’ll never walk again.”  Showing more wisdom than he’d ever exhibited before, Fitzhugh said nothing.

Sherlock found some rope and tied Fitzhugh up so tightly it would take him a month to work his way out of it.  They dragged him up the front stairs and dropped him into the foyer of the cottage.  The alpha had some serious injuries and would likely go into shock as he came down from his primal state, so Sherlock put him into the recovery position and draped him with a rug. 

John grabbed what first aid equipment he could find, some blankets and towels and headed out to where he’d last seen Mycroft. He’d managed to force his swollen feet into some boots and made good time down the drive.  

Sherlock was on the mobile and speaking rapidly in French, hopefully calling for ambulances as well as the police. Mycroft had said they were on their way, but there was no sign of them yet.  Had it been a bluff?  It had certainly fooled John but the lie had given him hope. 

John had found the torch again and was sweeping the area with it when he saw a dark figure lying beside the drive in the grass.  He dashed over and fell to his knees, Sherlock close behind. 

Carefully checking for a pulse and respiration, John was relieved to find both, though the pulse was thin and thready.  Making sure there were no spinal injuries, they turned Mycroft on his back.  John found the wound site in his lower abdomen, in what John liked to call his ‘spare tyre’. 

It was only a flesh wound but had bled copiously.  Instructing Sherlock on what to do, they staunched the bleeding with gauze and towels and covered the elder Holmes with warm blankets.  He was well on his way to going into shock but hopefully he’d be fine once the paramedics arrived and could get fluids into him. 

John looked closely at Mycroft’s pale face. His lips weren’t as blue as they’d been but his skin was almost a translucent white.  His blue eyes opened and fixed on John. Raising a hand, he reached out to the doctor. “John? Are you all right?  I’m sorry. I tried but couldn’t hold him for longer…” 

John took the cold hand and squeezed it carefully. “Don’t worry about it, Mycroft. Everything’s fine. Sherlock defeated him and we’ve got him restrained. The police and ambulances are on their way.”  
  
Mycroft lips turned up in a very small smile as he closed his eyes. He said, “Oh. Good,” then went very still. Frightened, John quickly checked his pulse but thankfully it was fine and actually somewhat stronger than before. Sitting back on his heels, John looked at his bond mate.  
  
”Are you all right, Sherlock? You’re a bloody mess, luv.” His alpha raised a thick eyebrow, smeared with mud and blood. 

“Pot, kettle, John. I’m fine. Some bruises but nothing serious. The blow to my shoulder came close to dislocating it, but it’s just sore now. Nothing a hot bath won’t put right.”  John knew he was telling the truth. Apparently, Sherlock had manage to avoid most of the blows Fitzhugh had aimed at him. 

The doctor nodded in relief and groaned. ”I could murder a cup of tea right now.”  
  
”I’m just glad you didn’t murder Fitzhugh.” Sherlock’s tone was very fond.

”Yeah, well. I might thank you someday for stopping me, but right now I rather doubt it.  If anyone needed killing, it was that one.” 

Sherlock shook his head. “It’s a good thing I like bloodthirsty ex-soldiers. Otherwise you’d be in trouble right now.”  
  
John couldn’t help giving him an exhausted smile.  “Can you stay with Mycroft?  I don’t want to meet the police looking and smelling like this.” The scent of his omega secretions and pheromones were overpowering even the mud and rain smells and he was uncomfortable. 

“Go back to the cottage. I’ll wait here and take care of everything.”

John kissed and carefully embraced Sherlock, mindful of his injuries, and sat back.

”I’ll need to see the paramedics about my feet, but I’ll take care of them for now.  Once they’re finished with Mycroft and Fitzhugh, please send one to me. I might need to see a doctor but I’m fully in heat now and I really don’t want to go anywhere except to be with you.”  Being close to Sherlock was making focusing on what he was doing next to impossible.

”I know what you mean. Go now, before I start fucking you here and embarrass the police.” 

John snickered and limped back to the cottage.


	9. Chapter 9

Exhausted, the doctor finally made it back to the cottage before the ambulances and police began to arrive at the main house. They’d be there soon enough and he wanted to be clean and properly dressed before they arrived. 

Fitzhugh was conscious but in great pain from his numerous injuries. The alpha had come down from his primal state and was now suffering the consequences of his actions.  John had no sympathy but still hated the idea of anyone suffering, even a waste of space like Fitzhugh.

“Help will be here soon, Fitzhugh.  Are there any medications that you’re sensitive to? I can mention it to the paramedics.”

The alpha’s voice was faint but harsh. “Sod off, Watson,” he said wearily. 

John shrugged and stepped over the sentinel on his way to the stairs.  He wasn’t going to bother with Fitzhugh any longer.  The doctor’s mental faculties were not at their best and he didn’t want to waste what little cognitive abilities he had left on something so worthless.    
  
The stairs looked a million miles high as he trudged up them, still dripping mud and water, holding onto the handrail to avoid falling.  All he wanted at that moment was to clean up and fall into bed with Sherlock.  But there was too much to do and he needed to be quick before the police arrived. 

A swift shower and change of clothing saw him downstairs again, watching over the now piteously moaning Fitzhugh.  The doctor pulled one of the loveseats in the front room closer to the doorway to the hall so he could get off his feet and keep an eye on the injured sentinel. 

Thankfully, the cuts to his feet were shallow but, combined with all the bruising, were rather painful and swollen.  While he waited and watched over Fitzhugh, he was able to care for his own injuries and loosely bandage them. A tetanus jab would not go amiss and he’d get a paramedic to check over the cuts before applying a final dressing. John was relieved that he wouldn’t need a doctor.  The heat was making him more and more uneasy about being around strangers and having Fitzhugh right in front of him was unsettling, to say the least.

Even bloody and injured, Fitzhugh’s alpha scent was making him uncomfortable.  John had changed his pants but they had already become soaked with lubrication. His body was bound and determined to mate with something, and soon. On top of everything else, he was feeling very itchy and his clothes made his skin feel overly sensitive. Rubbing at his nipples eased some of the itch but it made his abdomen throb with an increasing arousal that was very difficult to ignore. Just what he needed was to be writhing around on the sofa with his hands down his trousers when the police finally showed up. That would certainly look very professional.

Maybe some fresh air would help.  He limped to the window and opened it a crack. The cool air did clear his head a bit and he gratefully breathed the air without alpha pheromones polluting it.  It was then he noticed the flashing lights of the police cars making their way slowly down the slippery drive, followed by an ambulance.  They stopped in the semi-circle in front of the house while John hobbled back to the loveseat.  Christ, he hoped Sherlock would be with them. He missed his alpha with a physical ache and his body throbbed with wanting. 

Since it was broken down by Fitzhugh, the front door had been left wide open and John hadn’t bothered to try to close it.  The doctor stayed where he was, feet up on a footstool, and watched as the foyer was invaded by multiple police, many of them clearly alphas. 

They swarmed around Fitzhugh and one called to the paramedics to hurry inside.  John watched with interest as they freed the groaning sentinel from his bonds and examined him for injuries.  Another pulled a gurney inside and they began to transfer Fitzhugh to it. John was very gratified to see one of the police cuff the alpha to the very sturdy support bar immediately. 

Two of the police spotted John and, looking grim, headed toward him, only to stop in the doorway as they caught his scent.  It was strange and somewhat embarrassing to see their expressions soften and become concerned for him.  They glanced at each other and then looked back at John.  The elder policeman spoke to him gently in French but John had to shake his head at them with a regretful expression that they immediately understood. 

The older policeman indicated to his partner to stay there and he left the house.  He returned shortly with a paramedic who came quickly into the room with John.  As soon as the man knelt by his side and set down his equipment, John could tell that he was also an omega. 

“My name is David, m’sieur.  I can see you are in heat. But you are also injured. May I touch you to examine your feet?”  
  
John blinked at him in bewilderment for a moment, trying to understand and then came to himself.  Damn hormones were making him incredibly stupid and he flushed with embarrassment as he nodded.  
  
The man grinned at him and winked as he began to unwind the bandages with very gentle hands. “Your time is making you uncomfortable and your mind dim, yes? Of all those here, I understand most.”   
  
Relieved, John sat back and allowed the man to work. He was very efficient, going over both feet quickly but thoroughly and then checking John’s vitals. Nodding, he addressed John again.

”You did a good job with these and the cuts are very clean. I’ll wrap them again and you must change the dressings often. Do you know how to do this?” 

“Thank you, yes.  I’m a doctor and I know what to do.”  
  
The paramedic’s face brightened and he looked up at John with delight. “You are an omega doctor?  That’s wonderful! I, too, want to be a doctor. I am studying to get into medical school. My alpha is very supportive.  He works from home and watches the children.”  

John was flabbergasted. “You work, study and are raising children? How are you not dead?”  Being able to juggle work and family was a secret worry of John’s. He wasn’t sure how he’d feel being left out of Sherlock’s cases or not being able to work outside of the house.  It might drive him around the twist to be stuck at home all the time. 

The man gave a shrug. “We compromise. The children come first, though. You have children, surely?” He looked dubiously at John, trying to guess his age.  
  
”No, not yet. This is my first heat with my alpha.  You wouldn’t happen to know where he is, do you?”  
  
”You mean the tall, dark alpha outside? He is yours? That one is tres jolie, mon ami.” The paramedic comically waggled his eyebrows at the doctor, eyes sparkling in merriment as he teased John.  It wasn’t until he found himself chuckling in amusement that John realised how incredibly tense he’d been and how just being with another omega had relaxed him. He was starting to shiver, though, and he didn’t like how paranoid he was feeling.     

As he began to pack away his supplies, David gave him a concerned look and turned to the policeman still stationed at the doorway. John could tell he was an alpha—the hormones were making his sense of smell much more acute—and had noticed the man was being careful not to look directly at him.  
  
The paramedic spoke quickly to the policeman, who nodded and trotted out the front door. 

“I have asked him to fetch your alpha.  You need him right now, even if only for a moment. You are trembling with anxiety and stress and your blood pressure is high.  His scent will calm and relax you.  You have been through much excitement tonight and you must relax.” 

At that very moment, Sherlock breezed into the foyer and headed straight for John, ignoring one of the policemen who seemed to want to speak to him. Thankfully, Fitzhugh was no where in sight, having been transported to the ambulance a few moments earlier. 

As soon as John saw Sherlock, he reached out for him and tried to get up, but David put a firm hand on his shoulder to press him back into the sofa. Then Sherlock was there and that was all that mattered to John.  The sight, smell and touch of his alpha encompassed him and he nearly whimpered in relief as he was finally able to hold Sherlock. 

John’s arms were wrapped around Sherlock’s torso and his nose was buried in his sentinel’s neck.  He heard someone speaking quietly and Sherlock replied in French, his voice deep and dark, sending shivers through John as he held on tight. He was afraid Sherlock would have to leave him again soon and the thought was nearly unsupportable.

”John. I have to go.” He’d been right, Sherlock was leaving. The hormones were making him want to behave like a stereotypical omega, clingy and emotional and John wanted to wail in protest. That was completely ridiculous, though. He took a deep breath instead of behaving like a teenager and sat back, forcing back his feelings and disengaging from Sherlock’s embrace.  The separation physically hurt but he forced his face to be impassive and accept the inevitable. He was a soldier. This was not the worst thing that had ever happened to him though it felt like it at the moment.

”I’m sorry, John. All I want to do is to take you upstairs and not come out of that bedroom for a week. But Mycroft is on his way to hospital and he needs me right now. Grand-maman is too frail so I am the only family that can go. Anthea has been notified but it will take some time for her to arrive.  It will only be for a few more hours and then we can be together. Do you understand?” 

“I do, Sherlock. My brain may be barely functioning right now, but I do understand. You need to be there for Mycroft. He saved my life and I hope he’ll be all right.” 

Sherlock looked grim. “He’s lost a lot of blood, but we got there in time. He should be in hospital by now and the police are waiting to take me there.”

David cleared his throat and Sherlock glanced sharply at him as if just noticing him for the first time.  John watched as the alpha scanned the paramedic for possible threats and saw his expression soften as he realised David was another omega. 

The paramedic directed his words to Sherlock, speaking respectfully. “If I may, alpha, I have some pills that will help your omega. They’re herbal extracts that suppress the heat symptoms for a short time and allow him to rest.” 

Sherlock took the pills and smelled them, then handed them back. “John, what do you think?”  The paramedic looked rather surprised at Sherlock deferring to John.   

John cocked an eyebrow at David questioningly. “They’re perfectly safe. I’ve used them many times when my alpha cannot be home when I need him.  They work well with no side effects.  You’ll be able to sleep and be rested for when your bel homme comes home.”  

John agreed and took the tablets dry.  Sherlock made a face but didn’t protest. 

David again addressed Sherlock. “You should also give him your jacket. Your scent will soothe him until you return.” Sherlock quickly stripped out of it and handed it to John, who eagerly pulled it around himself. It smelled wonderfully of Sherlock. 

“Now you need to get to bed and I’ll be off to hospital. The sooner I’m gone the sooner I can return to you.” When John tried to stand, Sherlock stopped him and bent to pick him up.

”Oh, no. You’re not lugging me up all those stairs! You’ll get a hernia and then where will we be? You can help me up the stairs but no heavy lifting.”  

Sherlock chuckled and helped John up and together, arm in arm, they moved to the hall. “You underestimate me, Doctor. I’m much stronger than I look.” John only huffed and shuffled toward the stairs. 

As they made it to the foot of the stairs, he remembered David. The paramedic had followed them the foyer.

”Thank you for your help, David.  And good luck with your medical training. We need more doctors that are omegas, I think.” 

“You’re welcome, my friend. And stay off those feet! Meilleurs voeux and many children to you and your alpha.” With a saucy wink, he left the house while Sherlock took John upstairs. 

Leaning heavily on Sherlock, John managed the stairs and took the opportunity to soak up his alpha’s scent and touch for a few moments longer. 

Helping John into the bed, Sherlock covered him warmly. Sherlock embraced John and held him close for a few moments. The doctor could tell that Sherlock was every bit as agitated as he but wasn’t showing it. It was then that John’s empathy finally decided to work and enfolded them with its unique comfort, soothing and calming them both. 

Cupping the doctor’s face in his large hands Sherlock stared into John’s anxious eyes. ”Try to sleep and I will be home soon. If I had a choice in this, I’d be here with you.” 

“I understand, Sherlock. I really do. I don’t have to like it, though, do I? Please give Mycroft my best wishes and I hope he’ll be all right.  Just come home to me soon.” John tried to smile for him and mostly managed to succeed. 

Sherlock returned the smile and kissed John’s forehead.  In his deep baritone, he whispered, "N'importe où que tu te trouveras, là, je sera chez moi.”

John was charmed but confused.  Sherlock explained. “It means, ‘Wherever you are will always be home to me.’”  With one more kiss, Sherlock was up and out of the room, leaving John gasping in surprise at the incredibly romantic thing he’d just said.  The door downstairs closed with a bang and Sherlock was gone. 

With nothing else to do, John settled down to try to rest and remind himself that Sherlock would be back soon. He pulled off the jacket and cuddled it in his arms. The doctor felt encompassed by Sherlock’s scent and began to relax. Hopefully the pills would work soon. 

The pills worked very well. The fire in his abdomen and the itch in his skin calmed and he was finally able to relax some. Slowly he fell into a light sleep, though his dreams were fitful and anxious.  

Waking suddenly, he thought he’d heard a loud noise. Maybe the door downstairs had slammed shut. Was Sherlock home? The lights were still on in the room and he sat up, rubbing his eyes. He felt a bit ill, like he always did when he’d taken a short nap and had to wake suddenly. The lubrication had soaked his pants and trousers, so he decided to get rid of them.   

Could that have been Sherlock? He listened hard but couldn’t hear anything. His empathy was next to useless at the moment so there was no point in trying that.  Maybe he should get up and check the door. It had been damaged after all and wasn’t able to shut properly. 

His feet still hurt, though and he didn’t feel like getting up. He snuggled back down in the bed and pulled the jacket up to his face. The linen felt smooth and cool on his skin.  Thank goodness he’d put towels down on the bed, otherwise the sheets would have been soaked before Sherlock returned.  
  
Sighing with impatience, he had to keep his hands clenched tight around the jacket or he’d start to stroke and finger himself.  The pills must be wearing off because the heat was coming on again.  The need was almost intolerable and he moaned and twitched. He rolled to his other side, trying to get more comfortable but there was little comfort to be had aside from the jacket.  Inhaling deeply helped and he kept his face pressed tight into the nape of the jacket, where the scent seemed to be the strongest.  Slowly, he started to drift off to sleep. 

Startled awake, he once again thought he heard a noise. Yes, he heard feet on the stairs! Sherlock was back, finally. Thank god.  He sat up in bed and waited. But Sherlock didn’t appear. Curious and not a bit concerned, he got out of bed and hobbled to the door. Strangely, his feet didn’t hurt anywhere near as much as they should have done but it barely registered.

He reached for the doorknob and turned, pulling the door open.  On the landing outside the bedroom was Fitzhugh. His hands were bloody and he was grinning triumphantly.

”Did you miss me, John?  Oh, I missed you.  Sherlock can’t join us so I thought I’d take his place. You don’t mind, do you?” 

It wasn’t possible. How did Fitzhugh get away?  Was Sherlock dead or injured? Unable to stop himself, John shouted in horror and anger. 

It was his own cry that woke him up and he practically threw himself out of the bed, yelling out his terror. Thankfully, Sherlock was there to catch him before he crashed to the ground. 

“John! Wake up! You’re having a nightmare!”

John was incredibly disoriented and couldn’t believe his eyes. ”Fuck! Jesus Bleeding Christ!” The doctor threw himself into his alpha’s arms, trembling with reaction. “Sherlock! Is this real? Please tell me you’re all right!”  

Sherlock held him close. “That must have been one hell of a nightmare, John. Was it about the war?” 

“No. God, no. It was a million times worse.  Fitzhugh had killed you and was in the bedroom with me.” Sherlock pulled John impossibly closer and kissed his temple.  

“It’s all right.  I’m home now. Last I saw Fitzhugh, he was going into exploratory surgery for possible internal bleeding. It’s not possible that he could come here now.”  
  
John gasped out a huge sigh and practically melted into Sherlock’s possessive embrace. ”Thank Christ.” He finally sat back, breathed in deeply and ran a hand over his face. 

Catching his breath, he asked, “How is Mycroft? Is he going to be all right?” 

Sherlock nodded. He looked very tired. “He’s going to be fine. There was a lot of blood loss but he’s had intravenous fluids and will be in hospital for a few days. Anthea arrived sooner than expected, which is why I could come back here earlier than I’d thought possible. Let me get cleaned up and I’ll join you.”

John lay back on the bed and tried to calm his racing heart while Sherlock showered. Sometimes he fucking hated his subconscious mind and the nightmares it insisted on giving him.  That one had touched on all his fears at once and he was still shaking in horror. Closing his eyes, he listened to the sound of the shower as it cut off and Sherlock moving around the bathroom.  

Again without conscious direction from him, his now working empathy reached out for Sherlock. The alpha was vibrating with anticipation, which seemed, in turn, to cause John’s pheromone production to ramp up. Every part of him was now fixated on the man in the other room. Throwing off the sheets and blankets, he reached down between his legs and rubbed his entrance, eliciting a very strong reaction and a feeling of incredible pleasure. Moaning, he inserted two fingers into his opening, stroked his penis and arched his back in an attempt to penetrate deeper 

Suddenly, his alpha was in the bed and John was engulfed in a tight embrace.  A wave of sheer lust overwhelmed him as he breathed in his alpha’s scent and he fully understood what going into heat meant. Writhing and clutching at his alpha, _finally_! was the only coherent thought his hormone and pheromone fogged mind could produce.

Sherlock sucked John’s fingers clean of the lubrication that covered them. Then the alpha began to kiss him and position his limbs at the same time. Thinking or speaking was nearly impossible for both of them then and urgency to knot was paramount.  John could only moan and pant as he was arranged on the bed to Sherlock’s satisfaction.  

John returned Sherlock’s embraces enthusiastically as they kissed and he wrapped his legs around his alpha’s waist.  Sherlock moved John’s legs and placed them over his shoulders, bent to kiss him deeply again and entered his omega with one savage thrust.  John arched his neck and spine, pushing back with all his strength. 

“You’re mine! No one has ever had you like this and no one else ever will,” Sherlock grunted as he continued to push deeper and deeper inside John.

” Oh, god yes! Only yours,” John gasped passionately, writhing with unimaginable pleasure.

”I’m going to fuck you so deep you’ll feel me come in your mouth. I’m going to fill you full with spunk and you’ll only have my babies.”  
  
”Yes! Your babies, as many as you want!”  John had no problem with that, as long as Sherlock kept fucking him.  He could feel Sherlock’s arousal and his own build and it was exquisite.  
  
Sherlock drove in hard and John groaned in rapture and raised his hips to try to get more penetration. Deeper was fantastic. He’d never felt anything like this and he revelled in the wantonness of it.  

Sherlock thrust in and out of John like a piston, the strength of his rhythm pushing them both across the towel covered sheets, toward the head of the bed. John put his right arm up to brace against headboard and used his left to stroke himself. He was going to come long before Sherlock from the amazing triple stimulation of his prostate, vagina and penis, but didn’t care. Everything was operating solely on instinct at this point and he was just going with the flow. 

Gasping out Sherlock’s name, he came copiously across his belly and chest. He vaginal muscles fluttered and tightened rhythmically around his alpha’s penis as if trying to milk his seed out of him. Sherlock groaned deeply, stopped thrusting and ground his penis into John in a circular motion, causing the doctor’s muscles to clutch even tighter around the alpha.  

“Christ, you’re so tight, John,” the alpha growled and bent to lick ejaculate off John’s chest and then sucked hard at John’s sensitive nipples, flicking them with his tongue.  This caused John’s womb to literally throb with arousal and his back arched as he orgasmed again, this time vaginally.  Sherlock moaned as John’s muscles massaged him hard and he pushed in as deep as he could and circled his hips again.   
  
John could feel the lubrication oozing out of him with Sherlock’s pushes inward. He shoved back and deliberately tightened his muscles again, urging Sherlock to resume his thrusting. Reaching down to touch where they were joined so tightly, he could feel the knot beginning to form, but the position they were in would not allow deep enough penetration to knot together.   
  
Breathless and barely able to speak, he pushed against Sherlock’s shoulder.  “We need to switch positions, luv. You need to knot in me and we can’t do it like this. Let me turn around.”  
  
It seemed to take a moment for Sherlock to understand but he nodded and pulled out with an obscenely wet squelch.  John stared at the huge member that had just been so deep inside him, mouth practically watering at the sight. Glistening with lubrication and purple with arousal, John could see where the knot was beginning to form and it was gorgeous.   It was also going to be enormous.  
  
Quickly, he turned over and raised his hips high and spread his legs wide, keeping his shoulders low. Grabbing a pillow, he was able to wrap his arms around it and rest his chin comfortably and then urged Sherlock to continue.

Sherlock pulled his buttocks apart and plunged in with little warning, but John was ready.  The new angle allowed deeper penetration and the head of Sherlock’s penis was hitting the back wall of his vagina with every thrust.  Excitement began to build again and with each smooth glide back and forth, the glans continuously hit something inside that felt amazing. It was different from the prostate and he suspected it was a g-spot, but having no actual experience he didn’t know for sure. He just wanted it to never end. 

Sherlock continued to thrust but it was becoming clear that he still wasn’t going to be able to get the penetration he needed to knot.  John keened in frustration.  He had read that first times didn’t always result in knotting because of the inexperience of the omega or the excessive size of the alpha. Both possibilities seemed to apply to them. If Sherlock couldn’t knot, he could still climax but it wouldn’t be as satisfying an experience. 

Clearly, Sherlock was also frustrated. He was panting with effort and moaning continuously. John trusted him to do what was necessary to make this work and sent back his love and faith in Sherlock with his empathy. It seemed to be reliable now and the alpha responded. 

Using an incredible amount of strength, Sherlock wrapped one arm around John’s chest and another around his abdomen. Penis still deep inside his omega, Sherlock lifted John up and onto his lap.  John’s legs straddled his alpha’s lap and his head fell back against Sherlock’s shoulder and neck. The position allowed gravity to help with the penetration. The pressure of the enormous member inside his vagina was becoming painful. Sherlock sensed this and began to pinch his nipples and stroke his penis so his arousal made him forget the pain. 

The nape of John’s neck was even with Sherlock’s mouth. The alpha began to rub his lips against and then lick at the base of John’s neck while pushing in and out of John in a steady rhythm. The knot was closer to the entrance and John could feel the burn and stretch of his hole as it passed in and out with each thrust.  They were getting closer to full penetration but were still not there yet. 

Suddenly, Sherlock bit the back of John’s neck hard enough to draw blood and gripped tightly with his teeth, growling.  A very primitive section in John’s omega brain responded and he went completely limp and trusting in Sherlock’s hold. This was the alpha claiming his omega and it was what was needed. 

Sherlock let go of his neck, grabbed John by the hips and thrust upward hard.  There was a shift or expansion inside John’s vagina and Sherlock’s knot plunged in deep.  Released from his immobility, John shouted, arched back and pushed down hard on Sherlock’s penis.  As John’s body clamped down to trap the knot in place, Sherlock climaxed and moaned John’s name. 

John could feel Sherlock’s engorged penis throb and the knot pulsate as it poured seed into his womb and then he was coming again, also.  Sherlock continued to climax for at least a minute, filling John to capacity and more. The knot rubbed at John’s prostate and g-spot as well, and he writhed and tried to milk Sherlock for more.  

Finally it was over and Sherlock controlled their collapse on the bed. They were lying on their sides, tightly knotted together, panting and twitching with the electric aftershocks of one of the most incredible sexual experiences they’d ever had. 

“Do you think it’ll be like this all the time?  I don’t know if I can survive it.” John was breathless. 

Sherlock was also breathing hard but kissed his ear and buried his face in John’s hair. “What a way to go,” he muttered and was asleep. 

John chuckled at the joke and then settled down to rest while his alpha slept.  John wasn’t surprised that Sherlock had dropped off so quickly. He’d been in two strenuous fights over his omega, had to fight the residues of a tranquilliser and then had spent most of the night in hospital with Mycroft while John had been sleeping. He deserved a rest. 

Sherlock woke from his doze when he began to orgasm inside John again and it triggered one in John as well.  It was the strangest sensation and new to John to orgasm without anyone having to touch his penis.  It was quite wonderful and he immersed himself in the novelty of it. 

He had began to imagine various erotic scenarios starring himself and Sherlock when his Sherlock started to lick at the wound he’d made at the nape of John’s neck. Apparently, part of the bonding ritual involved mixing body fluids such as saliva, blood and semen. Eventually their bodies would synchronize with each other and begin to emit the same scent. That would make it very clear to everyone with a nose that they belonged to each other, body and mind.  

The licking tickled a bit but also soothed.  The bite would likely scar but it would be something he would be proud of. He was claimed now in every way possible and everyone would know he belonged to Sherlock and Sherlock to him.   

John hadn’t really known what to expect from this bonding. Forrester had told him much of what he needed to know about sentinel/guide bonding but this was different. Instead of a bonding of the spirit and mind, it seemed to be a bonding of the body.  It made him more aware of not only his body but of Sherlock’s and where they were in relation to each other.  It could be very useful in their work or it could be very annoying. 

“I suspect that we’ll get used to it rather shortly. I do like the idea of always knowing where you are, however.” Sherlock nuzzled John’s hair and kissed his temple. 

“Be very useful when I get kidnapped, that.” John leaned back into Sherlock as the detective’s arms slipped around him tightly.  The rested until the next wave of orgasm overcame them. 

It had been almost an hour and Sherlock’s knot had deflated enough to withdraw from John.  The doctor was very grateful for the towels because copious amounts of semen began to flow out of him. It seemed like at least a gallon but he knew it had to be much less. He liked the idea that there would be more and was looking forward to it. However, the expelled ejaculate was messy and starting to cool. 

“Christ, I need a shower. Look at this mess.” 

Before he could get up, Sherlock pulled him back flat on the bed. Reaching between his legs, put his fingers to John’s entrance, inserting them and collecting a handful of his own semen combined with John’s lubrication.  John gasped as Sherlock then massaged it onto the doctor’s belly and chest, making sure to rub his nipples erect with the slippery fluids.  If he’d not been so exhausted, John would have probably come just from the eroticism of it all. 

Sherlock growled in his ear, “I don’t want you to shower. Leave this on.” 

Looking down at his torso and then up at his alpha, who was hovering over him, John said, “Sherlock, seriously. This is going to get flaky and smell nasty.”   

“That’s the point. I want you to smell like me so everyone knows you’re mine.” 

John sighed. “No one else is here. No one can take me from you. I’m yours and only yours.”  
  
John oofed softly as Sherlock lay down on top of him, effectively smearing them both with sticky, cooling secretions.  “That’s right.”  He started whispering. “The only one who has you is me. I’ll be the only one who comes inside you. The only children you’ll have will be mine.” 

“There’s no question about that, Sherlock.  I never want to be with anyone but you. I will only have your babies.”  The pheromones were starting to get thick again and John could feel his IQ dropping. 

Sherlock’s body rubbing all over him had got him interested and he was getting wet again. Arousal grew at what seemed a logarithmic rate as his intellect diminished. John eagerly parted his legs and arched his hips, grinding against Sherlock. “So you need to fuck me now.”  
  
Sherlock’s pupils were blown wide and he bent to kiss John deeply and entered him again. John could feel the semen oozing out of him as Sherlock began to thrust in earnest and he revelled in the wickedness of it all.  His alpha’s voice was deep and dark as black velvet, making John shiver with want as he was thoroughly fucked. “Mine.” 

“Yours,” was all he could manage and he was writhing and thrusting back with each push of Sherlock’s penis inside of him. 

The extreme urgency wasn’t completely gone but they went more slowly this time.  The steady, smooth glide of Sherlock’s penis inside of him felt so incredible. He still wanted deeper penetration, so they changed position again and Sherlock entered him from behind once more.  The alpha covered John and bent to lick and suck at the nape of John’s neck. Instead of immobilising him, it sent electrical sparks up and down his spine, causing him to push up and quiver around the penis pushing deeper and deeper inside.  He could feel the knot beginning to form and it seemed to stretch him even further than before.  

The doctor was greatly enjoying the feeling when Sherlock shifted and took one of John’s hands, placing it on his own lower abdomen.  Sherlock then placed his own over John’s hand and then pulled John’s body upward, putting pressure on John’s lower abdomen, vagina and womb as he continued to thrust rapidly. 

John’s breath whooshed out of him at the sensation of being able to feel Sherlock’s penis simultaneously pushing into him from the inside and from the outside with his hand. His arousal ratcheted up past what he’d ever experienced and he started to climax as Sherlock shoved his knot in as far as he could. John clamped down hard and they both came together, shaking and trembling, slowly collapsing onto the bed, knotted tightly together.  John was absolutely shattered but he couldn’t wait to do it again. 

They spent days knotting and making love, over and over again.  Sherlock was a surprisingly innovative and tender lover, even through the fog of heat, pheromones and hormones. John had not expected that, though perhaps he should have done. Sherlock was a genius after all. 

John’s heat lasted three glorious days and he couldn’t ever remember being more fatigued. Not in med school or his residency. Not even in the worst parts of his many tours of Afghanistan.  But he couldn’t remember ever being happier in his entire life. 

It took an additional two days of rest before they were able to venture out and give their statements to the police.  John had spent the previous day resting while Sherlock talked incessantly on the phone to Lestrade. Molly had completed the examination of the feet and even though the toxicology wasn’t in yet, it was clear Sherlock was straining at the bit to get home. But he was very patient and loving with John and didn’t insist that they leave before John was ready, which was quite unexpected. 

Mrs Holmes had been true to her word and had sent delicious, easy to eat food for them both. She had even checked in with them after the fourth day and invited them to dinner. They’d accepted, though John had felt like a zombie the whole day. 

Mrs Holmes had embraced him fondly and laughed at his bedraggled appearance. “You’ll get used to it, love. It’s the cost of having a younger bond mate, I think.”  

John couldn’t help but agree. To say that Sherlock had been extremely enthusiastic was an understatement and he’d had trouble keeping up toward the end.  He just hoped he had the chance to experience it often and build up his stamina. 

Lost in reminiscence, his dreamy expression made Mrs Holmes laugh again. She whispered in his ear, “Don’t be embarrassed, John, but I’m not so old that I don’t remember what it was like to be with my bond mate. And I have seen that particular expression you’re now wearing in the mirror many, many times.”  John blushed anyway as they went into dinner.   

After their meal, Mrs Holmes left them in the parlour with coffee while she took care of some correspondence, saying she’d rejoin them shortly.

John sighed and looked at Sherlock. He knew that their idyllic time at the cottage was soon to come to an end. They both had things to sort out back in London.  Sherlock had his mystery to solve and John had been wondering what the Tower might charge him with when he returned. The last thing he expected was Sherlock nervously handing him a small box. 

“What’s this?” John stared at the box in confusion and then with narrowed eyes at Sherlock.  Clearing his throat, Sherlock urged him to open it. 

Inside were two rings.  They were of an antique design and quite beautiful. Raising his head to gawk at Sherlock, it took a moment for the doctor to realise what Sherlock was proposing.  
  
”Bonding rings? You want us to have a bonding ceremony?”  John felt numb.  This was something he’d never expected. 

Sherlock nodded, looking rather uncertain at John’s reaction.  ”Yes. I’d very much like to have a bonding ceremony.”

John was touched but perplexed. “But that’s such a traditional thing to do. I never thought you’d want something like that. We’re as bonded as it’s possible to be. We really don’t need a ceremony to make it permanent.” 

“I know, but Grand-maman wants to be there.  These were her grandparent’s rings. They were an omega guide/alpha sentinel pair and she wants us to have this. Will you agree?”  
  
John took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Of course, I’ll agree. It’s just such a surprise.”  He was astonished and overwhelmed.  His mother and Harry would be ecstatic, though. If he left it up to them, it might actually end up being fun. 

Sherlock smiled and looked satisfied. ”Good. We can discuss dates once we get home. Grand-maman will be thrilled.”

The next day they were driven by Mrs Holmes’ chauffer to give their statements about Fitzhugh to the police. The former alpha prime was in critical care at a local sentinel hospital and would be there for a few weeks. Sherlock had injured him seriously and John couldn’t help but feel a unexpected thrill of pride to have been won by such a powerful alpha. 

It was an odd experience to be in a French police station.  The officers treated John with kid gloves and were incredibly courteous and helpful. Used to much less polite treatment by the members of the Met, John was quite charmed by how careful they were with him. Of course, their friends and acquaintances at the Metropolitan police didn’t know John was an omega.  He wondered if they’d treat him differently once they knew. 

The French police were probably treating him so carefully because Sherlock glowered and acted as if he’d take off the head of anyone who looked too closely at John. However, it seemed that being an omega definitely had some advantages.  He wasn’t sure he wanted to be treated like this all the time, though.  

Sherlock had insisted that he wear a collarless shirt under his coat and kept an arm around him the entire time at the station. Belatedly John realised the shirt was to allow the alpha bite mark on the nape of his neck to be very visible when his coat was off. That, combined with Sherlock’s possessive alpha behaviour, made it clear to everyone that they were a newly bonded pair.  John wasn’t sure if he should be embarrassed or proud. 

Fitzhugh had been charged with a long list of crimes.  The most serious were attempted murder, attempted kidnapping and interfering with an alpha/omega bond. For some odd reason, that last one was the most serious and, if convicted, the sentinel could possibly serve up to ten years in prison. 

He was not charged with interfering with a sentinel/guide bond because that was something that only a Tower could prosecute.  There was some talk of extradition to LondonSentinelTower, but John had no strong feelings about it either way.  

The seriousness of the crimes the alpha sentinel was charged with were enough for John. He was realistic in that he knew Fitzhugh had many friends in high places in the British government.  So it was likely the charges would be bargained down. But the most important thing was that Fitzhugh would no longer be someone they had to worry about for a long time. 

After all, there were plenty of other things to be worried about that were much more important and immediate.  It would be about four to six weeks before he would know for sure, but somehow, he was fairly confident that they’d managed to conceive during his heat.  It wasn’t unheard of that a first mating was infertile and that it might take a number of heats to conceive. He actually wouldn’t mind that, thinking very fondly of Sherlock’s knot and how amazing it had felt inside him.  

Also, he was much older than a typical first time pregnant omega and his age might make it more difficult for him to conceive. And if he were actually pregnant, his age likely put him into some type of high risk category. So the odds were against him conceiving so quickly. However, something told him they’d succeeded and he trusted his instincts. 

So there were many things to think about and to plan for the future.  How Sherlock’s family would take the news of their bonding was another question.  John was certain Anthea and Mycroft had already told them about everything.  

John owed Mycroft his life and had hoped to thank him before he left the country. However, Mycroft had been able to leave hospital and go home so he’d had had plenty of time to spread the gossip to the family. John was sure he’d see him again soon, but wasn’t exactly looking forward to hearing about their reaction. 

There was also the media backlash and the public’s outrage at John’s treatment by LondonSentinelTower.  Should he come forward and give his side of the story?  His life would be a living hell for a while, but with the public’s short attention span, they’d likely soon forget about him.  

On the other hand, it was entirely likely that their friends, especially Lestrade, would figure out it was John who was the focus of the Hunt when they came back bonded as both sentinel and guide, alpha and omega. It would be a shock at first, without a doubt. Maybe they could keep the sentinel/guide connection aspect of their bond quiet and allow their friends to focus on the alpha/omega bond instead.  Planning a bonding ceremony would certainly be a major diversion for Harry and his Mum. 

And would the Tower forgive his transgressions or would they want to prosecute him? As a guide, he was undoubtedly under their jurisdiction whether he was officially associated with them or not.  John honestly had no idea how the Tower legal system worked.  Could they prosecute him in the same way as criminal or civil law?  

He had disobeyed a summons and assaulted Protectors, though only one had been seriously injured that he knew about. The unbonded had been feral and had tried to force a bonding. When John had resisted, the unbonded tried to kill him, so he could likely consider that self-defence.      
  
Would Sherlock’s mother insist on interfering or including herself in the bonding ceremony? Did he still have a job? John’s head ached at all the disconnected thoughts swirling around.  He now felt like he was in the middle of a badly written episode of Coronation Street and honestly didn’t want to think that far ahead. 

With Sherlock so eager to get home, they packed up the following day after the visit to the police. They’d been told that they would be contacted when they were needed and so were free to go. 

John was sad to leave Mrs Holmes. He’d grown to love her and the cottage, which would always be a special place for him and Sherlock.  Mrs Holmes hugged them both tightly as they stood outside the cottage, packed and ready to leave. 

“It was so wonderful to have you here and I will miss you both so much.”  She winked at John.  “Just be sure you invite me to your bonding ceremony, John.”

”I wouldn’t think of excluding you. And you’re always welcome in our home, Mrs Holmes. I hope you will come visit us.”

”Yes, Grand-maman. Don’t you still have a townhouse in London? If not, you’re always welcome to stay with us.”  
  
”I do still have the townhouse but I’ve not been there for years. We’ll see, loves. I don’t travel as well as I used to do, but when you start giving me great grandchildren, I’ll make the effort. Monique will want to come, too.  I hope you’ll be able to manage both of us!”  
  
John laughed, embraced her again gently and whispered, “If we have a girl, we’d like to name her Fabienne. Or Fabien if it’s a boy.”  
  
Mrs Holmes gasped as John released her and she wiped her eyes. Sherlock hugged her next. “It’s a beautiful name and I hope you don’t mind if we do use it.” Sherlock put his arm around John and pulled him close. “We talked about it last night and agreed that we’d like that very much. You were the first to give us your blessing and a safe place when we were on the run. We can never thank you enough, Grand-maman.”  

She smiled through her tears. “You may use my name for your child only if John agrees to call me Grandmother, too. Or Grand-maman is fine, whichever you’re most comfortable.”  
  
John couldn’t help but hug her again. “Grandmother works for me. Thank you. I hope we’ll see you again soon.”  
  
Finally, farewells complete, they got on the road. John took a deep breath and let it go with a sense of great relief.  Fitzhugh would no longer be a problem in their lives.  There were going to be some major obstacles that needed to be sorted out when they got home. Once he’d taken care of things with the Tower, he’d consider going public to campaign against the anti-guide/omega legislation.  It would likely still fail without his input, but he wanted to make sure of it.  Going public was a huge thing and it was something he had to think hard about, because it would impact Sherlock, as well.  If he decided to go ahead, he would have to hope it would just be a nine day wonder and then things would settle down again. 

Above all, John wanted to make a new start.  No more secrets from now on. He was going home and he was finally going to live his life as it was meant to be. He was a guide and an omega.  Some of their friends and acquaintances were going to be shocked by the revelation and might be angry but those who were most important to them would celebrate it.  

There was much to look forward to with his new bond mate. There would be mysteries to solve, criminals to catch and hopefully, if the spirit animals were correct, many children to raise.  Putting his left hand on his stomach, he imagined the cells dividing, getting ready to begin a new life. Smiling, he reached out his right hand only to be met halfway by Sherlock’s.  The sentinel sent a fond look his way and then turned his eyes back to the road. However, he kept a tight grip on John’s hand until they reached Calais.

John had quite a few things to take care of before he could settle down into comfortable domesticity but he had the help and support of the love of his life and his family.  That would be more than enough. Together, he and Sherlock were unstoppable and he looked forward to what the future would bring.

 

The end

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all of you who read this and who kindly left kudos and comments. I've been overwhelmed at all your kindness and encouragement for my first fic. 
> 
> I never expected anyone to even like this, to be honest. You guys are wonderful and again, thank you all so much. :-)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Cover Art for 'Secrets and Revelations' by Hisstah](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1308211) by [Cleo_Calliope](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cleo_Calliope/pseuds/Cleo_Calliope)




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